


Behind the Eight Ball (Hazbin Hotel)

by TurtleNeckSweater



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 22:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21505528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleNeckSweater/pseuds/TurtleNeckSweater
Summary: Charlie's hotel welcomes an unexpected new guest and business partner. An old friend of Alastor's and known only by the name of Daisy, she is a notorious and admired business owner with a stronghold of many of Hell's most popular hangouts, making her a valuable asset for Charlie's new project. But nothing is as it seems in Hell, and when Charlie decides to partner up with this mysterious powerhouse, dark secrets of underground associations, murder, and dangerous races for power come into the limelight, and the Hotel's inhabitants are suddenly exposed to the most venomous parts of Hell's underground dealings. In Hell, such power can only be held by extensive amounts of fear, which begs the question, what did she do to earn it?On the side, an old and dangerously mysterious past comes up between her and Alastor.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 188





	1. It Began

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for giving this story a chance. To get this right off the bat, I have a few of the first chapters done and ready to be posted, seeing how the initial debut goes! This chapter is a prologue, your backstory and how you came to be. Thank you so much for reading and please, if you'd take the time, leave a heart and a comment, the appreciation and thankfulness is a feeling that I truly cannot describe.

“You’ll understand when you’re grown up, darling.”

Her father kisses her on the top of her locks, before he drives away for what she fears will be an eternity.

It’s 1914, and tragedy has already struck her tender young heart. 

A young girl stands at the end of a gravel driveway as a car pulls away in the dust, engine sputtering as it turns to disappear down the road. Her mother is beside her, waving a handkerchief and a hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she weeps. The girl watches the car disappear, confused. No, she doesn’t understand, because no one will tell her. You have to wait until you're older, wait until you’re just a little more grown up. 

So every morning, she asks her mother if she’s old enough. Mother always says that little girls need sleep to grow big and tall and smarter than anything, and each morning after her rest she enters her mothers room to ask if she’s old enough yet, has she grown enough to be all grown up to answer the questions she wants answers to? And every morning her mother says no, darling, not yet, not until you’re tall enough to reach the branches on the old oak tree that she would swing under with father after dinner before he went away. 

Every evening, after the car disappeared and the dust settled in its wake, she stands on the tips of her toes and reaches up high for the branches, and each day she swears she gets a little bit closer. 

“Y/N, darling, come inside! Jack frost’ll catch you a cold, daisy flower!” 

The little girl falls back onto her feet and glances over her shoulder at her mother’s call. She turns to run inside for dinner, away from the cold and the setting sun into their grand, New Orleans manor. Her mother is a pretty lady, the little girl always thinks, even though her eyes are starting the crease with worrisome wrinkles, and each day when she sits in the window to stare out at the road, waiting, she thinks she catches the glint of a few more grey hairs. 

When she reaches the balcony, a house worker is there beside her mother to wrap a coat around her shoulders. 

“Mama, I can almost touch the branches now.” She states, and her mother takes her hand to lead her into the home towards the dining room. A few years ago, the house was old and quiet, but now the silence is filled by the footsteps of workers and maids, and she has grown used to the help that walk about the dining room and set her table, pulling out chairs as she hops up to sit across from her mother. 

Across the table, her mother smiles. It’s a sad and aged smile. 

“Is that so, darlin’? Your father will be so excited to hear that in our letters.”

Dinner is placed in front of them, but the little girl ignores it, persisting. She doesn’t notice the tired slump of her mother’s shoulders and weary expression that she always seems to carry now, as the days turn into weeks since he left.

“Why can’t I tell him when he comes home?”

Her mother pushes food around her plate, closing her eyes, her lips pursing tight. It takes her a minute to respond, before she opens her eyes to fatigued and distressed smile. 

“Well, we’ll wait to tell him when he gets home, then, sugar.”

The little girl finishes her dinner quickly. The housemaids are always kind to her, and they help her bathe and brush her hair and wash her face, sometimes even helping her tidy her room before her mother comes to check. They’re young and sweet, but they can never play. They help her do her readings and writings and tell her things about the world that seems so big, but they never answer questions about why her father went away or where he went. 

“You’re too young for such big questions, Y/N.” They always giggle. 

“Well, when I grow up, I’ll have answers to every question in the whole world!” She responds with a beaming smile. 

Each night she waits in her bed for her mother, the dark chased away by the flickering of a candle on her bedside that glows a soft orange. When her mother enters the room, she sits on the bed and it sinks under her weight, brushing hair away from the little girls face. 

“Where are you goin’ in your dreams tonight, darlin?” She whispers, kissing her on her head. 

“Travelling the world, just like papa.”

Her mother doesn’t respond, and in the light of the candle her face looks tired and worn. It takes a few moments of silence, before she tucks a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. 

“You’re going to defeat so many demons when you’re grown up, my sweet daisy flower.”

Y/N spends each day like the last, eating her meals and all her vegetables and doing her studies so she can learn about what is beyond her small world and grow to reach the branches of the oak tree in the backyard. Each day she grows a little more, she can swear it.

As she grows older her hair grows long and she likes to keep it that way, and the housemaids enjoy playing and tying braids on her head when the house starts to go to bed and she asks them about the world and how much longer until she doesn’t have to grow anymore.  
Hasn’t she done enough? No, they say, no one ever really stops growing. 

So how do we know who’s grown up and who’s not? Well, I suppose we don’t really. 

The more she grows, despite her large property it seems to shrink. She searches high and low for every nook, every cranny, every bush and every hiding place she can find until she’s sure there is nothing left to search for, and then a little bit more. She discovers that the more she grows, the less hiding places she has because she isn’t little enough to hide in her old favourites anymore. 

“What do you want to be when you’re older?” The housemaids ask. 

Y/N thinks. 

“When I’m all grown up I’ll do everything that I’m not allowed to do, like eat sweets for breakfast and stay up all through the night!”

The older she gets, the more her mother takes her out into the town a ways down the road. Mother knows lots of people, so the trips are often long, exhausting days but she never complains. Everyone her mother talks to asks about her father, and she is always keen to listen, but mother never really says much, never more than anything she already knows. She carries the baskets because mother seems so tired and anxious these days, and when the girl watches her it seems like every crowd she’s in she’s always preoccupied with searching through faces for someone in particular. The girl never asks who.

The town, she finds, unlike their home, grows more interesting the older she gets, each time getting a little bit more confident and conversing a bit more with the locals. The best part is the children, kids of all ages like five or six that run about the street with their older siblings and wow! This is the first time she’s met kids her age! Most of them don’t want to play with her they don’t know her and she’s not around much, but she manages to make a few friends that she is always sure to say hi to and play a few rounds of kickball with while her mother shops. There’s a boy, Richard, and a girl, Betty. Betty likes to talk about hair and dresses and whenever she does this Richard throws mud at her and she screams, but Y/N knows that she’s never really mad at him and they all eventually end up dirty and laughing together. She never wants to leave when mother comes to get her, and she always asks to stay at Betty’s house just for one night, I swear!

“When you’re older, sugar.”

Time passes slowly, but each day gives her a little bit more height to reach the branches on the old oak tree. Each sunset blends in with the next, and her studies grow tiresome and repetitive. She’s jealous of her friends who get to play freely and wander as they like and how they know things about the world that she doesn’t. She’s angry, as she stands under the tree in the backyard, jumping for the branches and crying out in anger when she cannot reach them, still. Her long hair is braided softly, and her dress billows lightly in the wind. 

What if she can never reach the branches? What if when she grows so do they, taunting her efforts? When can she be grown up enough to ask the world an answer, and have it answer back? 

When can she be strong enough to carry the heavy things that you have to hold when you’re grown up?

She’s staring up at the branches when she hears her mother cry out her name urgently, desperately. She turns to see her mother running through the soft, green grass, shoes absent from her feet. She’s running so fast, and her face is full of fear as she calls her name. 

“Y/N! Come here!” 

The girl is confused but her heart beats with anxiety. Her mother is never this urgent, this desperate, and it sets off signals in her head that sends the nervous beat in her chest into a frenzy. When her mother reaches her, she is scooped into her arms without hesitation, and she’s carrying her daughter back across the field faster than she’s ever seen anyone run before. Y/N doesn’t ask questions, but watches the oak tree grow smaller and smaller as they run into the house. 

In the distance, towards the direction of the town, a siren blares.

Her mother takes her down into the cellar and together they sit in a corner, surrounded by boxes of photos and clothes and belongings. The house workers are there as well, and when the cellar door is shut the darkness seems to swallow all noise that could have ever lived. 

No one speaks for hours, and as time ticks away and her mother holds her close, in her dreams she can feel the distant boom and rumbling through the floor somewhere far away. 

It seems that the dark cellar eats up her eternity, and she wonders if they will ever leave, if the light will ever flood her vision again, if she can return to her bed, but she doesn’t dare ask these questions, and neither does anyone else. There is a mutual blanket of anxious silence that seems to stretch on forever.

Eventually the world outside seems to fall into a slumber, and the resonating thunder that seems to crash outside grows silent. Even after everything goes quiet and it seems the only life left remains in the cellar, they wait. The darkness is consuming, suffocating, but Y/N does not speak because she’s afraid the darkness will swallow her voice whole. 

When they all finally leave the cellar, the air is thick and tense. Their home is empty and quiet, unchanged and eerie. 

The next hour they travel to the town, and life has all but been destroyed. Y/N hides her face in her mothers cloak, shying away from the devastation of rubble and injury and tragedy. She cannot fathom the feeling of absolute grief and loss, unable to comprehend how a town could be standing one day, and the next half of the buildings be reduced to piles of ruin. Amongst the wreckage, she forces herself to find Richard and Betty, whose homes have avoided being reduced to ruins. There are people standing in the roads, staring aimlessly at what used to be their homes, and lonesome children weep at the side of the road. Y/N does not understand. 

“Mama, what’s happening?” She wails, wiping snot and tears of fear and shame and guilt on her dress. Her mother places a hand on her head, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“This is something you’re too young to understand.”

For once, she’s glad that maturity has avoided her.

Days roll and tick into months as the clock moves forward, and Y/N still reaches for the branches that grow closer and closer above her head. She has seen the world, and some parts are not beautiful and some people are horrible, but when she grows up she will be strong enough to fight them.

“What do you want to be when you’re grown up?” The housemaids ask. Y/N stands on her bed and boasts with a puffed out chest. 

“I’m going to grow big and tall and smart, and I’m going to see every inch of the whole, wide world!”

She devotes herself to her studies. As the days grow longer into summer she spends her time restlessly helping the housemaids to the point where they barely have anything left to do no clothing left unfolded, no chair left untucked. The world outside, however bright and beckoning, sends waves of unease through her when she watches the sun climb over the sky through her window. She gets her fill of the outside when she reads to one of her favourite housemaids each morning to practice, is satisfied by the cover of the balcony she knows as her share of a window to the unknown, far away enough that she can return inside where she knows she is safe.

A year ticks by and she grows into a well educated and versed young lady.

The day her father returns is like the first day of sun after years of rain. 

She watches her mother weep with joy as she leaps into his arms in the driveway, barely letting him climb from the car before she has collapsed into him and placed a desperate kiss on his lips. Y/N watches from the stairs at the front door, her heart hammering nervously. What if she has grown so much he won’t recognize her? What is he’s not the same?

But when he turns to look at her and she sees the tears spring to his eyes as he holds his arms out, she throws herself forward and propels down the driveway into his arms and he swings her through the air with glee, bringing forth a giggle from her stomach. 

“My beautiful daisy flower, look at you!” He cries with joy. There are medals on his olive green jacket that glint in the sun, and when he holds her she can feel he is stronger, tougher. She cannot help but notice how his young face has aged with worrisome wrinkles.

From then on dinner is always lively and the house is always filled with music from a crackling radio somewhere in the home, soft jazz becoming a familiar comfort to her ears. After her fathers return, there are more workers in the house, and every now and then mother and father bring people in who carry new, fancy furniture and the walls are painted with brighter colours that give the house life. Sometimes, there are guests over for dinner, older men in dark uniforms whose chests shine with the glint of medals that hang from above their breasts, men who always tell her mother how pretty she is and who always tell Y/N what a dashing young lady she is, who clap her father on the back and ask if she knows how brave and what a brilliant man her father is. Of course she knows, she knew before they ever did, they don’t know her father better than her. 

She grows with the years, and though the world is still tentative she finds that the solitude of reading her books under the shadows of the great oak tree is comforting. The silence is a lovely change from the upbeat feeling in her house. 

Her parents are more lively than ever, and as she grows older they shower her with love of their own and presents like dazzling necklaces and bracelets that shine, pearls that seem so expensive she rarely even wants to remove them from the display. As the decade spins by their night life becomes consumed with the glamour and bustling company of high class men and ladies, and their parlour seems to become a home to ravenous, extravagant parties where it seems the only rule is the flaunt how happy being rich has made you. Flapper dresses and long cigarette holders and suits and ties, jazz and swing and fizzy alcohol and the constant shaking hands that her father seems to deal with each hour as the nights pass by. Y/N is never allowed to participate in these parties so late into the night, she’s sent to bed by the time the moon is high, and she falls asleep to the sound of trumpeted music and passionate celebration. 

Her teenage years become filled with these nights of music and life. The house maids teach her how to put on just enough makeup to accentuate her naturally beautiful. She grows into her features, a splendid adoption of her mother’s gorgeous features, and eventually when she asks her father if she can come be a part of the celebration and dance, he says yes. 

And suddenly, its as if a whole new part of life has opened up before her. She has never felt her beauty until now, when she descends the stairs and people watch her like they’ve never seen something so exquisite. The old men that pat her dad on the back and drink expensive whiskey ask about her now, ask how old she is and laugh about how they’ll bring their sons around one day. Young women dote on her, touch the expensive gloves her dad gifted to her, go green with envy over the expensive jewelry that she is draped in. 

She asks these people about the world, where they’ve been and what it’s like. She’s old enough now to understand that when young men are telling her about their experiences they are boasting, because in a common factor they all seem to be the hero, and she learns how to smile and nod enough to slip away and leave them satisfied that she listened to their story. 

In the mornings, her mother brushes her hair and tells her how beautiful she has become, inside and out, and when she looks into the mirror she sees it. She is beautiful, because she looks like her mother, and she is proud. 

Though she’s older now and the young men that trail after her are dashing, and she enjoys the fun company and the flattering attention, she never really finds that any of them capture her heart. 

Not as much as one. 

She meets him in her estate library, the jazz muffled through the halls as she came to seek a breather from the smothering and doting of the crowds and all the attention she’s not quite used to yet. He is tall and devilishly handsome, and he’s skimming through their books with a breezy smile. He notices her when she walks in, and says,

“Quite the party?”

“That’s an understatement.” She throws back. The way he watches her is different, but she doesn’t know why. His eyes aren’t lost and dreamy and empty, and she’s curious as to why she’s found him lost in her library, with one of her favourite books. 

“Scarlet Pimpernel,” She states. “One of my favourites.”

“You like to read?” He teases, glancing up at her. The way his smile shines and his eyes take her in is exhilarating. 

“Well, a girl has to be smart to make it in this man's world.” She smiles, and after flashing a dapper, sly grin he snaps the book shut and puts it back in its place. He takes her hand and kisses it. 

“Alastor, my dear, pleasure to be meeting you.”

“Y/N.”

As days turn into months, Y/N and Alastor become closer, spending most of her nights running off to explore the city with her arm looped around his. He’s charismatic and charming and delightful, a refreshing change of pace from her life of glamour and prestige. He asks her about her aspirations, her dreams, and the way he soaks up everything she has to say sends her falling, falling into a pit that seems to have no end. He makes her heart beat fast and he makes her feel like the world isn’t real. 

He never tells her anything about himself. 

His charm is like a slide of ice that has sent her tumbling down into overwhelming feelings of joy and love and devotion, a feeling she hasn’t ever truly felt before. Love? She isn’t sure. He doesn’t treat her the way her father treats her mother, and they’re love is the purest kind. 

She should have noticed how his dapper smile became predatory, the way he seemed to listen to her dreams was him soaking up her obsession with giving every piece of him to her, how when he looked at her, his eyes were never soft and compassionate, but raw and sharp and dangerous. She never saw it. 

She never really did get to grow up in the end.

When her eyes shut for the last time, lying in a pool of her own blood, her heart clenched with pain and betrayal and guilt, she was only 19. Still young, still full of aspiration, ripped away. 

Her parents were her last thought, hoping that her apology to them would be felt and sent by whatever God there was out there. 

She died under his shadow, and he waited until her last breath fluttered and the light in her eyes slipped away, her beauty lost to the world beyond. He closed her eyes when she died, it was the least he could do, and his shadow slipped away silently, as if he had never really been there. 

She never got to grow up.


	2. A Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie and Daisy make aquantances. Vaggie isn't so enthusiastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive this small chapter. I wanted to make it straight to the point. Thank you for reading!

The next morning was soft and pleasant, which is saying a lot for hell. Skeleton birds squawk up on lamp posts and on rooftops, a screaming wake up call that signals the start of a new day. 

Charlie is always the first one awake, enjoying the quiet solitude the mornings have to offer, and the chance to relax in a peaceful atmosphere before the hotel is filled with the chaotic voices of its inhabitants. Charlie is not often one for coffee, usually playing a dangerous tango between addiction and occasional enjoyment, but this morning she decides to treat herself to a calming cup of espresso, sighing as the warm drink fills her belly and warms her chest. She stands in the kitchen beside the coffee pot, nearing the end of its life, and makes a mental reminder to get a new one. She is happy to find a single egg left in the fridge, the only food item in the majority of the kitchen save for a few bags of ramen, one of them open and half eaten raw, and a stale piece of pizza crust left by Husk the night before. 

In the dusty morning light, the kitchen is dimly lit and shadowy. Perhaps this is the reason she doesn’t notice the petite woman perched on a stool at the island, the light of the window not reaching that part of the room. She watches Charlie’s morning unfold, her hands folded in her lap as her head swivels to follow Charlie around the kitchen, peacefully minding her business, unassuming and enjoying her solitude. The girl counts the moments that passed, and is giddily entertained when it takes nearly fifteen minutes of darting around the kitchen until she sits at the island, directly across from the girl, and takes a sip of her coffee. 

Charlie, still somewhat lost in a haze of groggy exhaustion, makes eye contact with the girl and smiles lazily. 

“Good morning.” She murmurs absentmindedly, taking another sip of her espresso. The girl’s face stretches into a sharp smile, her eyes of deep blue quickly scanning Charlie up and down. 

She’s even cuter in person, lucky doll. She thinks.

Charlie sits with her eyes closed, hunched over on the stool for what the girl counts as 4 seconds… 5 seconds… 6 seconds… 

Charlie’s eyes shot open and she lets out a shocked scream, instinctively kicking back from the island and sending her chair toppling backwards. As she falls, her coffee hits the ground and explodes all over the tile floor and rolls away a few feet, Charlie looking up towards the girl, who shifts from her seat to stand and peer at Charlie over the island, an innocent smile on her petite, femine face.

“Oh dear! Need a hand down there, darlin’?” The girl moves around the island and reaches out with a hand, her fingers tipped by needle pointed claws. She wraps her fingers around Charlie’s arm, hoisting her back to her feet, and as she turns her shadow on the wall comes to life and slinks away, quickly reappearing with a brand new cup of coffee that it slips onto the table, identical and steaming hot, before returning to hide behind the demon with its hands on her shoulders, grinning with malevolence. The shadow is a dark reflection of her person, eyes narrow and hateful and mouth curled into a wicked, sharp smile. It’s like she’s taken the dark parts of her and manifested it into an extension of herself. The thought makes sense to Charlie, this demon with tall horns that sparkle with what looks like glitter is perceivably harmless. Charlie gazes at the demon tentatively as the stranger sits back down across the island, resting her chin on her hand and blinking long eyelashes at Charlie. 

Charlie is at a loss for words, her eyes wide as she glances around. 

“Wh- where… who are you! Where-” 

The demon silences her with a raise of her nimble hands, smiling a sharp toothed grin that Charlie can’t help but find a little bit charming. She’s beautiful, Charlie can’t help but think, her tiny stature making her seem delicate and lady like and her long hair that flows over her shoulders graceful. Her irises of snow white and her sclera of royal blue stick out and her cheeks are soft and rosy. Her smile is accented by cherry red, glossy lips. She shifts and lifts her shoulder so she can lean on it, lids low as she eyes Charlie with curiosity. 

“You are as cute as they say, got your mama’s looks, don’t you hun? Oh, you just look like a darn sugar cookie, I love it!” The demon suddenly stands enthusiastically, her hand gestures animated as she strides around towards Charlie and puts a finger under her chin, the other on her hip. She tils Charlie’s head up and around, inspecting her, and behind her Charlie feels demonic shadow slip around her before melting into a convincing, natural dark shape that stretches across the wall. It’s life has disappeared, and it is a normal shadow again. 

Her fingers are warm against Charlie’s skin, and the scent of vanilla is a mask for the faint undertone of cigarette smoke. She looks young, maybe Charlie’s age or a few years older when she died but she struggles to tell. 

Charlie is at a loss for words. 

“Forgive my rudeness, but I really was just so eager to come check out your little project for myself! I do admire your creativity and spunk, that’s just what a lady needs in this mans world.” She exclaims, before turning to exit the kitchen to walk into the lobby through a hall, turning in a circle as she admired what Charlie had started to do with her project. 

Charlie goes after her, putting her hands on her hips.

“Uh, excuse me! I don’t think you’ve really said why you’re here, or… how you got in.” She wondered, stopping a few feet away as the demon turned in her direction with a preppy smile. 

“Oh, please excuse me! My mother would turn in her grave is she saw me go anywhere without my manners! Everyone calls me Daisy, sugar! And you’re welcome to as well!” She gushed, throwing her arms out into a display. She had a heavy Louisiana accent that was sweet and smooth like molasses, and it made Charlie just want to sink into her voice and let her chat her ears off. 

Her demeanor was familiar, but she couldn’t place why.

“Okay, Daisy, my name is Charlie, it’s nice to meet you, but-”

“Wonderful, darling! Pleasure to make your acquaintance! Now, onto business! A little birdy has been chirping in my ear about this place and I think it’s a wonderful opportunity for something new, something fantastic, indeed! Darling, we’re going to turn this place into something visionary! Oh, I have so many ideas, I can find you some nice furniture and oh! A new chandelier, and we can take these tragic carpets out-” 

Charlie looks on as she babbles, and behind her footsteps coming down the hallway towards where the lobby and the kitchen meet signal the arrival of another presence. Charlie turns around to meet Vaggie’s exhausted face, rubbing one of her droopy, sleepy eyes. Vaggie frowns in concern, surprise, and confusion, looking to Charlie, then back at the stranger, who is moving around the room with excitement, throwing ideas into the air about what she would do with this area, and where she would move this couch to.

“Charlie, who the hell is this?” She hissed under her breath, holding her hands out straight towards the demoness across the room, who is adjusting picture frames and stepping back to admire them with a hand under her chin. She turns her head towards the two, and her face snaps into an excited smile. She’s across the room before they can even blink, seeming to slink across the floor in an unsettling, inhumane fashion, like for such a brief moment she became a part of the shadows and light that they could not even tell, then she’s standing in front of them. She takes Vaggie’s hand in hers and shakes it vigorously with glee. 

“Hello, darlin’! People call me Daisy, pleasure to meet you! You must be part of the staff, which is wonderful because this place could use every helping hand we can find! Now, is this all we have? That’s just fine, I suppose, I could find a few wayward souls to help this old place out-”

“Hey, hey!” Vaggie was steaming, and pulled her hand back and placed them on her hips. Daisy bounced back onto her heels, smiling sweetly. “We don’t even know who you are!”

Daisy giggled, putting a finger to her cheek.

“Well, I’m Daisy!”

Vaggie blanked, clenching her fists and groaning in frustration. Daisy interrupted her by holding up a hand. 

“But I do suppose it’s no smart business move to partner with someone you hardly know,” She placed a hand on her chest. “I run a little nightspot called the Garden down just north from central Pentagram city, you might of heard of it. Born and raised in New Orleans, greatest city with the greatest food, I must say! I’ve got a nose for a good business opportunity, and when I heard about your little project I just had to jump right on board, sugar! I’d like to offer my services for whatever you gals need to build this charmin’ little bit up from the ground!”

Though her demeanor was light and airy, Vaggie still wasn’t convinced. She really seemed harmless, fairly small compared to the other two and petite, her doe eyes wide and innocent and hopeful as she blinked with thick lashes up at the two.

There’s something wrong in the way she looks at Charlie like her decision has already been made, and her offer seems too good to be true. 

Vaggie has heard the name Daisy before, maybe only once or twice, passed around the streets of Pentagram City, and when it is spoken it is hushed and it is taboo, especially in the lower income ends. Powerful and poised and cunning Daisy, not like the rest of the brute and vicious demons that have taken their claim to power through pure bloodshed and violence. Charming, sweet, disarming, and deceivingly, dangerously intelligent. Countless powerhouses, drug dealers, pimps, some of Hells highest rankings in the underground system were chased out, and those who did not go, vanished, and in their spot Daisy was always found scooping up what they had left behind. Not much of her story is known, and if its is, it is not spoken openly and she has not caught it in the winds yet, but what Vaggie does know is that she clawed her way to the top leaving no mercy in her trail, and anyone that would stand in her way would always come victim to her arsenal of followers that she had gathered through what they say was sheer charm and seduction. 

Daisy, one of hells most powerful enchantresses, beautiful, sweet, dangerous. 

Vaggie turned her body away, placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. 

“Uh, can you just give us a minute?”

Daisy winked, and her shadow comes to life and places its hands on her shoulders, gazing at them with a predatory grin from behind her. 

“I’ve got all eternity to wait, sugar.”

Vaggie pulled Charlie away out of ear shot, putting both hands on her shoulders with concern. 

“Charlie, this is way too suspicious. So this girl just appears, literally out of nowhere, and wants to invest in the hotel? You don’t for a second think that she might be leading us on for a joke, or something? There’s just too many things that don’t add up,” She whispered, and her motherly voice was full of urgency and caring concern. “I’ve heard about her. Someone like her has way too much power to have any good intent investing in the hotel.” 

Charlie looked away for a moment, knowing that Vaggie’s words were logical and true, but there was something in her heart telling her this could be a good opportunity, regardless of how sudden and oddly strange. But in Hell, you never really could expect anything of the norm. Charlie offers Vaggie a hopeful smile. 

“Vaggie, at this point, we could use all the help we can get. I know it’s suspicious, and sudden, and we don’t really… know her but maybe we can get to! I mean, if she already understands business, that’s a helping hand we could really use. Obviously, we’ll ask a few questions, but… it goes against everything we’re trying to do if we turn her away,” She puts a hand on Vaggie’s cheek. “At least give her a chance to speak.”

Vaggie frowns, but her heart flutters for Charlie. She’s so passionate, so accepting and welcoming and kind, and for a moment she wishes she had the same childlike hope in her eyes, but she has to stay strong for the hotel, for Charlie. Because although Charlie is youthful and open hearted, in this world it’s everyone for themselves, and Charlie sure as hell would be swallowed whole.

But sometimes she can’t say no to Charlie’s hopeful demeanor, and she lets a smile grace her lips. 

“Fine, but just… be careful.”

Charlie takes a breath in before turning to walk towards Daisy, trying to put on a strong, untouchable demeanor with her shoulders back, but Daisy’s sweet and disarming smile as she looks at Charlie deflates her entire persona. 

She’s so small, how could she harm a fly? Charlie thinks.

“Okay, so, Daisy, we’ve decided to consider your offer, but we’ll need to go over some… rules.” Charlie twiddles her fingers nervously, leaning forward in anticipation. Daisy shrugs.

“Well, of course sugar, take a seat!” With a snap of her nimble, clawed fingers, three plush, crimson chairs are conjured in a circle seemingly from thin air where they are standing, strikingly luxurious in the bleak mess of the entrance lobby. Vaggie’s body lurches her into a startled defense instinct as the furniture appears, and the fact that the shadows from around the room are all slinking towards her with sharp grins to push in her chair underneath her is not a reassuring sight. She sits in the red cushions and is swallowed by their plush comfort. 

Charlie marvels at the display, her eyes suddenly wide and sparkly. A table appears with a pop, a few shimmering sparkles raining down from where it appeared to disappear in the carpet. Three cups of steaming tea appear with a wave of Daisy’s hand.

“So, ask away.” The offer is relaxed and there is no hint of malice or malintent in her voice, and as she reaches for her tea and takes a sip, Vaggie isn’t sure how to interpret her angelic, compassionate smile. 

“Well, obviously since you’ve already heard about the hotel, you know what we’re trying to do here, so it’s important we know your stance on redemption.” Vaggie presses, crossing her arms. 

Daisy slowly brings the cup down from her lips, her face free from wrinkles caused by frustration or stress, calm and collected, patient. She closes her eyes for a moment and nods in understanding. She hums quietly. 

“Truthfulness is important in professional relationships, so I suppose I’ll be absolutely honest for this one,” She looked to the side, tucking a strand of soft strawberry blond locks behind her ear. “I was shocked myself to find that when I heard your cause on the picture show, I full heartedly agreed with every word you were saying,”

Angel and Vaggie glance at each other, eyebrows raised, listening intently. Daisy continues,

“I wouldn’t say perhaps for all the same reasons, but in my mind, a petty thief and a serial killer don’t belong in the same purgatory, well, that would be just be comparing the likes of a deer and a wolf! I’ve seen enough to know that not every soul can be redeemable for some actions you deserve to be burned in hell, but sometimes I just wonder… “ Her soft voice pauses, and her head tilts down, as her hair falls forward the frame her face her eyes grow dark and ominous, vengeful. Her voice takes a turn, suddenly quiet and full of a directed bitterness.

“If it’s not always the persons fault that they’re down here, and when it isn’t why do you pay for something they didn’t do.”

Charlie and Vaggie stare, wide eyed, unsure. 

Daisy stares at the floor for a moment, until suddenly the dark aura around her disappears with a snap before her head darts up with a loving smile and she makes an apologetic shake of her head.

“Apologies, still trying to get a hold on my temper! You’ll have to check me if I go a little overboard, you hear? I guess I just have a few personal reasons why this is important to me!” She giggles. It’s like a whole different person, and Vaggie shifts uncomfortably. No matter how hard she tries, her heart does not want to settle its quick rhythm.

“Well, what would you want to see if we decided to partner up?” She asked. 

“I suppose I would love to help you get this place up and running, in exchange for cooperation between both of our business! I really don’t want to ask much money wise, that’s not what I’m here for, I have enough of that. I, in all honesty, want to help jumpstart whatcha’ got going on because I believe in what you're doing to make Hell better,” She smiles sheepishly. 

“And… between you and me, I wanna change, and I know you’re who I have to ask to help.”

~

Across town, the rumble of low music thumps in the air.

The room is low lit and the air is filled with cigar smoke, dim lights giving the area an ominous glow. 

Amidst the room, there are maybe twenty people total, gambling cards and chips in one corner, in another passing money in exchange for packs of pretty, white bags of drugs. There’s couches set about the room, a TV in the background with the news on ignored. The room is high above the city below, giving a 360 view of all the looming , black towers that neighbor theirs and glimmer with dazzling lights. 

On one of the couches near the center of a room, a man sits comfortably on the couch, his legs spread and a cigar dangling from his fingers, smoke trailing from between his lips as he eyes the woman across from him. She is dressed in expensive taste, even for the high class crowd she finds herself in, and her cat slit eyes are shadowed by long eyelash extensions. 

The man takes a puff from a cigar.

“What the fuck do you mean by gone?” He grumbles, baring his yellow, sharp teeth and tapping his cigar onto the floor. She shifts, obviously impatient. 

“Exactly what I said, gone. She’s got one of her lackeys runnin’ the damn place apparently, but ain’t no one saw her there today.” She waved a boy over who carried a tray of drinks. The man sits in thought, gazing over her shoulder absently. 

“Any idea where she’s gone?” 

“If I had a damn clue, I’d be telling ya.” She spat, downing the drink back like nothing else. The man clicks his tongue, taking a long puff from his cigar and tilting his head back, blowing it into the air. 

“It would be stupid to go in and go for that area. We’d start a war.” He chuckles and shakes his head, and the woman scoffs, crossing her arms. 

“You’d be starting a war, I don’t want anything to do with both of your damn childish arguments, I’m not ending up like Shelly.” Her voice is low and venomous, and the man lets out a bark of laughter. 

“Shelly was an idiot who got what she deserved, fuckin’ marchin’ in there are picking fights with people she couldn’t handle. If Daisy didn’t make sure she ended up in the river, I would have.” 

The woman across from him glances around anxiously, lowering her voice and leaning forwards. 

“Word is, she’s got Al in her corner again too.”

The man stops dead, holding his cigar away from his face, his eyes unreadable as he sits there for a moment or two, contemplating.

“No fuckin’ way.”

“Ya, and you know I ain’t gettin’ involved with anything in that area if that crazy psycho is involved, and when they’re workin’ together? Now we have to be on our fuckin’ toes keeping an eye on fucking dynamic duo over here-”

“Shut the fuck up.” The man snaps, and the woman snarls, but doesn’t say anything. He taps his cigar, and his wretched, sharp teeth curl into a smile, a wicked, burning grin that makes her uneasy. 

“Finally, something fucking fun around here.”


	3. A Slip Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy has an odd dream. She goes on a stroll to clear her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been having serious writers block! I've got the next chapters completely planned out, just with university application its hard to find time. I'm not abandoning this piece, trust me. There's lots more to come. The next chapter after this one will have lots more Alastor interaction, trust me.
> 
> Thank you!

The forest was deep and peaceful, dark and unending. Branches tickled her face and trailed their bony fingers through her loose, flowing hair, and the world was silent. She gazed ahead through the thicket of green, searching, searching, pushing herself gently forward through the branches. Drops of moonlight spill through the treetops, painting the forest floor in dapples of watery silver like the moon has begun to melt towards the world below. The only sound amongst the quiet is the footsteps under Daisy’s bare feet, the brush of her loose gown against the branches, and the rest of the world seemed to be swallowed by the sleepy silence of the trees. 

Through the quiet, a voice seemed to cut through, singing, a few high notes that come from nowhere and everywhere at once, and she felt a tug at her heart, as if they are calling her. Her eyes were wide as she takes in what she can in the darkness, but despite the lonely ink of the shadows she felt no fear, there is no malice in these woods, and she knew there was no one here but her, and the trees cradle her in their brittle, fragile hands.

Daisy looked around for the source of the voice, her breath freezing into a light cloud in front of her face, but she felt no sensation of cold. Her eyes were wide as she pushed through the bramble, though each part of the forest looks more and more like the last. How did she get here? Where is this forest? What is it trying to show her?

Again, through the silence the soft lullaby breaks through, echoing, like singing the first few notes of a tender song. Daisy picked up her pace, reaching forwards through the branches. 

“Wait.” She said quietly, not wanting to cry out in the peace of the forest and disturb its eternal slumber. The quicker she walked, the more the voice calls out, singing to her, calling her, but the farther it seems to go. It’s everywhere yet nowhere, and then she was running through the branches, swatting them out of her way. 

“Please! Don’t go!” She called lightly, and the voice responds with its soft, gentle notes of song.

She’s running, her bare feet travelling over the soft soil and her gown billowing behind her, hair pushed back over her shoulders and dancing with the wind. Her breath grew quick as she chased the song, slowly getting farther and farther away. 

Suddenly, the trees grow thin, and she stumbled from their protection into a calm, open clearing. The grass sways gently in the breeze, and despite the warm nighttime air her breath is still frosty and cold. The moon shines down upon the open clearing, and Daisy takes a step forward, chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. 

In the middle of the clearing, protected under the light of the moon, is a figure laying still, shoulders rising and falling with the steady breaths of a deep slumber. Blond hair splayed around a resting head, knees brought up and tucking into a chest for safety, an arm beneath their head and the other laying beside. 

Daisy made her way through the clearing, the grass cool against her feet. 

As she comes closer to the sleeping figure, she crouched down to rest on her knees.

“Charlie?” She whispered, brushing her blond locks from her soft, sleeping face. Sleep has taken her far away from this world, and she murmurs in response to her dreams.

The singing rings out again, only a few high notes of a sweet lullaby, and Daisy lifts her head to look around. She stands, stepping over Charlie gently to walk towards the other end of the clearing, her head towards the sky, as if the moon will give her an answer. 

“Who are you?” She whispered into the darkness. 

Behind her, Charlie whimpered, and she turns around to see that the forest shadows were creeping closer, past the border that separates them and the clearing, reaching and turning into sharp claws and teeth with gaping maws that are stretching and climbing through the grass. She turned in a timid circle, backing away from the forest edge. They are reaching, reaching with knife like hands. 

They’re reaching for Charlie, far away in her mind amidst her sleep. 

“Charlie!” Daisy called, trying to wake her but she’s too far gone, and the shadows reach closer, closer. She ran to Charlie but the ground seemed to stretch, and the more she runs the farther she gets. The young girl slept soundly, unaware of the danger, and Daisy’s heart began to race. This poor young girl, so innocent, so harmless, something in her heart told her to keep her out of harms way. Something, tugging at her with guilt, like someone was telling her go to her!

She tries to push harder towards Charlie but the shadows are too close to her anyways, reaching and brushing her with malicious fingertips. 

They’re going to swallow her whole, drag her down into whatever is beyond this empty place.

She hears the song again, but this time it’s behind her.

“Y/N.”

~

Daisy awoke with a faint gasp, her tired eyes trying to flutter open against the warm red of Hell’s morning sky. Her lips parted slightly as she steadies her breathing, batting her long eyelashes to fend from the sleep that weighs down her eyes. Her sweet, blond hair was splayed around the pillow, and one arm was stretched across the bed, as if in her sleep she was reaching. The bed she rested in was comfy and plush, and like all the other mornings, it is a hard battle to climb from its warmth into the frigid air.

This was her fourth sleep at the hotel, since leaving her homey apartment in the heart of Pentagram City. She wasn’t worried, she had imps taking care of the place less she’d be sure to punish them rightfully. The hotel and its inhabitants, to her surprise, had welcomed her rather quickly, save for maybe Vaggie, who she can feel is still hesitant about her presence among them. 

She rose slowly from the pillow and swung her legs around to dangle over the edge. Daisy stared at the floor, eyes dark and low and her hands beside her on the bed as she became lost in thought. 

What was that dream? She quickly put together all the bits of scrambled memory before they floated away. The soft lullaby still rings in her ears, and her chest tightens in confusion. 

When she was young, she would have dreams that were so vivid and complex her mother would tell her it was someone, somewhere we couldn’t see, reaching her from beyond. Her mother always said that her gift was a rarity, and she was lucky. Daisy had never thought so, dreams were just dreams, simply moments of imagination that take you away in your rest. When she grew older, she started to be able to control them, and it frightened her. It was no super power, she’d never believe such a foolish idea, but in the century she grew up in they had no sorts of explanations for those kinds of things. 

The more she grew she found she could trace the meanings of what she saw to something in real life, some sort of message or a warning or a prediction, if she were to go that far, but they were so faint it was something she had always chalked up to superstition. But now, in the depths of Hell, her ability had seemed to explode into warnings and messages full of confusing colour and power that she wasn’t sure how to handle. The first few decades she had been here, she had pushed it away, locked it somewhere in the dark parts of her mind that she wasn’t ready to confront, along with some memories adn questions she didn’t want to engage as well. But slowly, the gift started to peak through again, more confusing than ever, and she had come to accept it. 

She often found that she would be forewarned to things that were coming, or she could see or feel the intentions others around her truly felt. This also extended into her waking reality, when she had come crashing down to Hell she found that she could easily pick up on what was radiating off of people around her, sometimes strong and sometimes faint. 

Many people she had made ties with in Hell said this was one of the abilities she had been granted after her eternal damnation, just as some can control fire and some could fly. 

She shook her head, the questions flying around and muddling her train of thought, and she rubbed her eyes to make the unwelcome feelings go away. 

She sidetracked her thinking to the few inhabitants that she shared the Hotel with, possibly beginning to look for clues to what the dream was trying to say. 

Angel Dust is a character, and he was quick to offer her what he knew of hospitality since revealing he would swing by the Garden every now and then, and other spots that she had under her finger he would grace with his presence regularly. They shared a few common interests, and their conversations went smoothly, and she knew who he was due to his reputation, but that was as far as their relationship stretched. 

Vaggie, untrusting, cautious, fiery, but with a deep love for Charlie, Daisy could practically feel the air hum when they were together, their smiles towards each other sweet and innocent. 

Husk and Nifty are old friends, Husk more so through a few common acquaintances, though not best friends they definitely weren’t just associates. She enjoyed his company, and there were more than a few times she would ask him to bartend her place and after they would sit with a glass of whiskey and reminisce, for old times sake. And to add, their connections with the wretched, smug faced deer gave them even more to talk about, even if it was just spitting on his name and pissing on his grave when Alastor came up in the conversation. 

And Charlie. 

Daisy tightened her fingers around her bed sheets, the dream still fresh and the feelings not yet ebbed away, hot on her fingers. She thought back to the shadows that hungered for Charlie’s delicate sleeping form, and there’s a twinge of protectiveness that aches in her heart. 

With wide eyes, she tried to shake the feeling away, furrowing her brows. 

No, it’s never good to be protective, because that means you care, and no matter how sad and dull the world would be without love, loving someone in hell is never a safe option.

The feeling doesn’t go away even as she changed from her sleeping clothes for the day, donning a tight, white dress that she covers with a big, expensive black coat that reaches her knees. She pulled her hair into a high bun. 

She lights a long cigarette holder as she stared at herself in the mirror.

“What would mama say if she saw you now.” She murmured, and takes another puff of the long cigarette. 

Everyone was already awake by the time she goes downstairs, lounging on couches and chittering away the peaceful morning. There are a few, higher quality pieces of furniture pushed about, some interior decorations in boxes she had donated waiting to find their home. 

As she walked through the lobby her eyes lazily drift to Charlie, who seems to be chatting the ears off of a hungover Husk, his head in his hands. She seemed to pay no mind to his discomfort. Daisy took a long pull, her eyes lowered. 

Across the room, Angel noticed the stark change in her demeanor, somehow going from a preppy sorority princess to a brooding, calculated mistress. The air around her seemed a little thicker than the rest of the world, and Angel turned his head away, leaning back against the couch. 

Damn, doesn’t want to be fucked with today, he thinks. 

“Charlie.” 

Charlie swiveled her head around from Husk to see that Daisy has appeared behind her, and the new appearance catches her off guard, but she doesn’t ask questions. 

“Good morning, Daisy! How was your sleep?”

Daisy brushed off her question, eyeing Charlie with such intensity from beneath her lashes, a hand on her hip. 

“Did you happen to have any nightmares last night, sugar?” She asked lowly, and suddenly Husk’s head whips around with wide eyes. This is not his place, not his conversation, and Charlie knows that when he slinks away its because he knows just a little bit more about Daisy than anyone else, and he had a reason to. This thought made her nervous, but curious. She glanced sheepishly to the side, pondering. 

“Actually, I did. It was weird, I was actually having a good dream, and then there were all these shadows and it felt like someone was tugging on me, like it was real.” She answered cautiously. 

Daisy didn’t respond, only watched her with some sort of knowledge as she took a drag from her cigarette holder, the smoke leaving her lips and billowing up into the air. 

That morning, Daisy slipped away without anyone much noticing. 

The morning Hell has to offer is rainy and damp, and Daisy’s footsteps click against the wet cement as she walked along. She moved at a brisk pace, tucking her small form into her jacket as she slipped through the crowd and the throng of people that already crowd the sidewalk. She didn’t have to avoid them much on her own, most people take the time to clear the path for her journey without her asking. 

The moment she left the Hotel she thought she caught the sound of footsteps trailing behind her, but each time she stopped they would cease as well. She brushed it off, for now. She wasn’t afraid of confrontation, should it come to that.

As she walked, she thoguht back to Charlie’s face. 

The image of her sleeping form, devoured by shadows that hide her body from the moons light is still fresh, unsettling her core. The feeling of fear when she realised that running to her would do no good, she could not save this fragile, innocent piece of light as shadows closed in on her, faster and faster. 

Daisy didn’t like the feeling that eats away at her chest, it had been so long since she’s felt something quite like it that she can’t quite place it. 

Guilt? Responsibility? Protectiveness?

She couldn’t help but admit that In Charlie she sees pieces of her younger self, that when she watches Charlie gaze out to admire what the world has to offer, she sees the same spark of longing for something far beyond her reach. Her intentions and kind and true, and her heart is a pure form of good nestled beneath the layers of greed and sin that Hell was built on. It almost gives Daisy a sense of nostalgia, and old wounds put there by grief and loss threaten to split open again. 

Daisy stops in the middle of the sidewalk, and the crowd moves around her. There is no spitting or insults. She glared at the cement. 

I’ve spent so long building everything I am up to this point. I chased away every spark of hope that I bought here with me, Charlie’s face flashes in her mind, her childlike smile. What are you doing to bring everything back?

Suddenly, standing out amongst the rest of the bustling movement around her, across the street, there was a figure standing incredibly still, and she could feel eyes on her every move.

She whipped her head to look across the street, and she catches a brief glimpse of someone ducking back into the alley they were hiding in. 

_She narrowed her eyes. She was being watched._

She was quick to pursue her stalker, stepping into the street to cross the light traffic, not paying much mind to the occasional car that swerves around her. Her eyes were locked onto the alley, and her objective is set. Charlie’s face kept flashing in her mind, and paired with it is her own young face from way back when, nearly coming in on a century ago now, her own innocence lost to time, killed, crushed under her own foot in order to survive. 

Daisy stepped onto the sidewalk across the street, a part of her suddenly thrilled with the chase that is about to ensue. 

She entered the alleyway. 

On the other side, she saw a young demon, a boy, with tall curled horns. He ducked out into the other side, but not before they make brief eye contact and she can feel the horror that radiates off of him. 

The boy, across the way, saw her poised silhouette step into the light of the alley, her shadow stretching down towards his feet on the other side. Her shadow is alive all on its own, with a grin that curls with wicked fangs and clawed hands that reach to grab him. His breath came out in a startled gasp and his heart pulses with fear. He was unsure whether to stand his ground and take on the confrontation, but he was smart enough to know that any wrong move would end well with his body mangled somewhere no one would ever find it. 

Thinking on his feet, he whipped around to bolt in the other direction, but he bumped into someone the moment he turned. He stumbled back and looks up, a scream lost in his throat and his pupils going small in terror. She’s standing right there in front of him, no more than a foot away, eyeing him through thick lashes with bright azure eyes that stand out in the darkness. 

_How… where-!_

“Hello, darlin’.” Her voice is sweet like honeysuckle, but it only sent jolts of fear back through him once again. He glanced over his shoulder to cry for some sort of assistance, but he knew that the moment she entered the alley any demon back from where they came was smart enough to avoid it. 

She stood there, watching him, predatory and venomous despite how small she appeared.

“Do we know each other?” She wondered, her body so still he would think she was a statue if her cherry lips weren’t speaking to him. He swallowed, trembling. 

_Why did I do this. Why. I’m so stupid, I should have known, people warned me, I knew this was too much-_

His mouth felt like it was thick with molasses and his tongue was frozen, fear preventing him from speaking. Her eyes slowly raked him up and down, before she started walking towards him. Her actions pushed him back farther into the alley, and he stumbled into a connected backstreet that is even more shadowed and ominous. He fell back onto the ground, scrambling back and peering up at her, his eyes wide like dinner plates. 

_“Because it seems that you’re following me.”_

His heart stopped. He shook his head frantically. 

“Please, I had to, I was getting paid, I swear-”

She admired the nails on one of her hands.

“Well, darlin’, I’ll cut you a fine deal,” She gave him a sideways glance. “You can tell me who hired you, and why you’re wasting your day following me around, and I’ll let you go without a scratch,” She leaned forward, giving him a sweet smile, and for a moment his fear wavered and her motherly aura chases away some of his terror. 

This is the notorious Daisy? He had heard so many stories about how people who crossed her ended up sick and twisted and mangled, lifeless somewhere, but he couldn’t match the stories to this small innocent girl here, who couldn’t be older than her early twenties.

“I- I can’t-”

Her face suddenly darkened, and the world around them grew darker and the air felt thick. 

Daisy felt a familiar tingling that starts in the tips of her fingers, slowly climbing up her hands towards the rest of her body. Her chest felt like it’s beginning to flood with so many emotions that want to break free, that want to burst from her hands and curl around this unfortunate boy that has simply found himself in the wrong place. 

She pondered his fate. 

He cowered under her like a mouse, weak and sickly seeming as the shadows around them started close in, their dark forms shifting into sharp, dangerous claws that grab at the cement to pull their mangled bodies towards the boy. The opened their gaping maws and there are hisses that reel from the back of their throats as they crept along the ground towards him. 

She guessed his age in her head, maybe thirteen or fourteen when he died, and there was a part of her that finds it tragic he’s found himself down here in this damnation at such a young age. 

But Daisy had been around longer than many to understand that letting him go would only lead to more issues. She knew that whoever he’d taken this unfortunate job from had not defined the dangers of this kind of errand to him, the specifics have not been laid out. She knew that he was most likely following her to find something, see something that he could bring back to whoever hired him that they want to use against her. 

She had been raised to be poised, calm, always choosing the way of harmless kindness whenever possible, but being down here had forced her to change, become something different. She has learned that sometimes, you have to protect yourself even if it goes against what you thought you believed. 

And now, with the Hotel, and her connections to Charlie, the royal family, the target she has put on her own head and everyone else's suddenly becomes so blaring she’s furious at herself for not noticing it before. 

She knew letting him go would make her seem weak, and it would rile up so many territorial disputes if the word got out, and she had long ago been done away with that childish nonsense. Letting him go would be sending a negative message, he would return to whoever hired him and they’d think themselves invincible. It would put the Hotel in danger, Charlie in danger. 

She thought back to her dream, how she couldn’t protect her from the shadows then.

“You see, ladies avoid violence when they can. I truly do think that there are better outcomes to conflicts such as these like slaughter, darlin,” She rolled a shoulder and looked down to her side, sighing. “I wish I could make you understand what kinds of things I have to do to protect things that are mine,

I truly apologize for the suffering you’ve had to endure, I do, and I hope that someone up top has mercy on your poor, little soul.”

She looked at him with a tilted head, genuinely apologetic. 

“But wherever you go, will be sweeter than this.”

The boys scream doesn’t reach the busy noise of the street.

~

When Daisy returned to the hotel that evening she was characteristically bouncy and cheerful, and her dainty smile and fluttering lashes were quick to set Vaggie on edge. 

She watched her enter the hotel, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed, suspicious, cautious. No matter how much she batted her pretty eyelashes and has Charlie swooned with how invested she is in their project, there’s a part of her that just can’t seem to settle around her presence. Across the room, sitting on the couch, Vaggie rested her chin on her hand in frustration, grumbling under her breath and glaring across the room. She watches Daisy stride across the room and sweep Charlie into her sweet, convincing words of ease and kindness. Charie accepts her presence eagerly, her eyes glittering with admiration as the smaller girl whisked her into whatever idea had popped into her strawberry blond head.

“What’s got you in a bitchy mood?” 

Vaggie jumped, startled at the intrusion to her thoughts. She looked up to see Angel, standing there with three of his four hands on his waist and one holding a popsicle. She glared at him, huffing and turning away. 

“Like you fucking care.”

He popped the treat from his mouth, rolling his eyes and plopping himself down onto the couch beside her, to her dismay.

“Toots, you’ve been on edge all fuckin’ day and I’m sick of your attitude bringing down my vibe,” He crossed his legs and leans back. “So what’s got you in a mood?” 

Vaggie gritted her teeth, gesturing with both arms towards the other side of the room in frustration and shaking her head in disdain.

“First the Radio Demon, and now this! Am I the only one who thinks its suspicious that she just… appears out of nowhere and is already onboard completely, without even asking questions?” Her hands were animated and her language was colorful as she grumbled under her breath. “You have all this money and power, what do you want with a project like… like this! It just isn’t right, and I’m not going to fall for her charm like everyone else is!”

Vaggie humphed, crossing her arms and sitting back in the couch, her eyes narrowed. On the other side of the lobby, Charlie and Daisy were standing by the bar and Daisy was waving her hand around, gesturing to certain areas, and after every few seconds Charlie would nod her head eagerly, beaming up in admiration.

Vaggie’s face turned down even more and she sunk into the cushioned seat. 

Angel leaned across the couch so he was leaning on his elbows, his face plastered with a devious smirk that made her blood boil with unprecedented rage. She wanted to slap the grin clean off his face. 

“Wow, someones jealous.” He ran his tongue up the popsicle. 

Vaggie was silent, burning a hole into Daisy with her eyes. Her head slowly swiveled to face him, her eyes suddenly alight with a rage induced flame. 

“I’m not…” She hissed, leaning forward. “Jealous.”

Angel shrugged, leaning back and waving a hand in the air, his head rested on the back of the couch and his eyes shut in content. 

“Well, let’s see. Don’t want to celebrate an opportunity, check. Resentment towards whoevers causing it, check. Finding reasons to validate your feelings, check.” He gave her a sly side glance, grinning. 

Vaggie cried out in frustration and stomped away. In the midst of Charlie and Daisy’s conversation, she butted in and took Charlie’s hand, offering a tight smile. 

“Sorry, could you just excuse us? Thanks.” 

Daisy’s smile made her uneasy, and suddenly up close her calm and cheery aura was uncomfortable and made something in her stomach turn with butterflies. She didn’t say anything, just watched her go as Vaggie dragged Charlie away, her head swivelling slowly as they went.

It wasn’t until her head was nearly turned completely around that someone cleared their throat, and her head whipped back around, cracking like her bones were snapped clean in two, a porcelain smile on her face. The rest of her expression was blank.

Husk leaned against the bar counter, idly sipping from a bottle of booze and eyeing her up and down. When he slammed the bottle down, he cleared his throat. 

“What’s got you on edge? Youère buzzing like a fucking bee.”

Daisy only realized at his comment that she was in fact nearly vibrating, her hands shaking and her legs jittery like there were streams of pure adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was likely that anyway, the events of her day still sending her nerves on a thrilling race through her body.  
“I’m not quite sure what you mean, sugar.”

Husk chewed on the rim of the bottle, choosing his words carefully. 

“Just seems like you’ve got something going on up there.” 

He gestured towards her head, swirling what was left of the liquid in his bottle around and around. Daisy looked at him, her brain bouncing left and right about how to respond or what to do or say. She didn’t know how to play it off, she couldn’t. She couldn’t get all these thoughts out of her mind, she couldn’t make these voices stop talking- when did she start hearing voices? There was a part of her that felt like she was being hunted, like there was some trick she couldn’t see. She knew he meant no harm, he never did, but she felt like every part of her brain had a tiny crack growing larger and larger, threatening to snap apart. 

From Husk’s perspective, her face held an off putting lack of emotion, still as stone and just smiling at him with that smile that he usually found charming. Her eyes were fixed on him but not really seeing him, just staring through, like she had completely retreated into the back of her head. 

He reared back in shock when she shifted quite suddenly, turning her body towards him. The sparkle in her eyes had returned, like she was a statue that had been blessed with the gift of life, and she clasped her hands together. 

“Oh, Husk, darlin’, this place would be so bleak without you! I just didn’t get much rest, is all-”

“Well, if you can’t get your eight hours then you can’t perform to your very best!”

Both Husk and Daisy whirled around, wide eyed and startled like a deer in the headlights.

Dressed to the nines in his crimson red attire, he was so close to Daisy that their noses nearly touched when she turned around, and he patted her head like she was some sort of lap dog. Annoyance bubbled in her chest at the contact. The staticy air around him made her head spin, like it was seeping into all the cracks that were growing in her brain. His grin was so cocky and insufferable she could have slapped him right then. 

“Don’t you know not to sneak up on a lady!” Daisy’s scolded, but she didn’t back down. Instead she squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes. Alastor’s grin only grew in confidence, and his arrogant demeanor made her want to throttle him. 

_Ladies don’t pick fights, Y/N, her mother was whispering, somewhere._

With a satisfied humm, he booped her nose and stood straight up. 

_He booped her nose._

The fire that was already streaming through her ignited even more and it took every single ounce of self control and poise to swallow it, because she knew what he wanted was to get under her skin and poison her thoughts.

Charlie leaned out from behind him, her hair falling around her pleasant, genuine smile. Vaggie was with her again. Her arms were crossed and she looked uneasy, regretful, hurt. 

“Daisy! I’d like you to meet-”

“Alastor.” Daisy greeted through her pointed teeth, offering a sarcastic smile that she knew only he would catch the malice behind. Charlie stepped forward, confusion written on her features with a lifted brow. 

“Oh, you too know each other?”

Alastor swept up Daisy’s hand in his, placing a kiss on her skin with courtesy and standing up tall. Her hand was still stuck in his grip, and she tried to pull it from is grasp discreetly but his fingers tightened, locking her there. 

“Oh, yes! We go quite far back, indeed! It’s nice to see you again, my dear, it has been quite too long!” 

He shook her hand vigorously with excitement before spinning her around to pull her into his side, squeezing her enthusiastically and wiping the annoyance off her face to be replaced by shock. She placed a hand on his chest, trying to push him away. The static filling her ears felt like it was venemon, rippling over her skin and sending shocks of adrenaline through her. The close proximity sent her on edge. 

The world around her was slowly becoming louder and louder, although she knew no one was raising her voice. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips and in the marrow of her bones, and her vision was starting to look like it was slipping from side to side. 

_Flashes of crimson._

She tightened her lips, feeling her muscles tighten in defense. She smiled. They were talking but she couldn’t hear what they were saying yet everything seemed so loud and overwhelming. She smiled. They couldn’t tell anything was wrong if she just smiled. 

_They won’t know what you’ve done if you smile. If you pretend._  
What have I done?

_So much blood. There was so much. Why did I do that._

**You had to. You had to.**

_I said I’d leave that behind._

Daisy looked to the side anxiously, eager to escape this uncomfortable situation. They were still talking. 

Suddenly, through all the static and the mumbling, slinking through all the noise, was a whisper of a song. A few high pitched notes. 

_A lullaby. The lullaby from her dream._

Daisy pushed herself away from Alastor, smiling towards the group apologetically, slowly backing away step by step. 

“I’m very sorry to cut this short, but the day has been awfully long and this lady needs her beauty sleep,”

_Why is the world so fuzzy?_

She couldn’t feel herself moving but her body was doing it for her. Her vision wispy, her hands shaky and muscles tensed and ready to spring. The world around her seemed to lose colour for a few moments, blinking in and out, but the people around her were glowing a faint dusty red amongst the grey. 

_What’s happening?_

She didn’t realize Charlie had stepped forward and there was a part of her that suddenly sent spirals of thoughts and commands through her body to lash out and send her back, to… attack.

_Is this my punishment for what I’ve done?_

_This has never happened before._

“No, no darlin’. I’ll just be headin’ straight to bed!” She responded to Charlie without even remembering what she had said. 

She followed where the music had come from.

She didn’t even remember walking to her room until she was leaning against the door, fumbling for the handle and collapsing down onto the floor when it opened. 

A symphony of emotions and feelings suddenly washed over her as soon as she entered the sanctity of her room, like finally being away from the watchful eyes of a crowd opened the floodgates that she was fighting to push back. She scrambled to shut the door. 

Images started flickering past her eyes, one by one until they grew faster and faster and suddenly her brain was doing so much at once she couldn’t focus on anything and it felt like her heart was falling- She clenched her hair in her fists, curling into herself.

A scream tore from her throat.


	4. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor and Daisy go back in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this chapter being so short! I'm trying to keep up but school is really getting me. I'll keep doing my best to do my work to my fullest for this story, but for now have this. It may be short, but is chalk full of back story! Thank you for reading once again, and please, if you have the time, leaving a comment or a like really motivates me to pump this story out better and faster. Thank you, yes you, the one reading this, for everything. This one goes out to you.

“Mama, will you sing to me?”

The light of a flickering candle was the only thing illuminating the dark room, the setting sun casting an orange hue on the valley as it fell into sleep.

A beautiful woman sat upon a cushioned bed, stroking her daughters hair gently as she soothed her to sleep. 

“Only if you promise to go to sleep after, darlin’.” She whispered with a laugh, her shoulders bouncing daintily, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The little girl shifted under the covers, looking up at her mother with hopeful eyes and nodding eagerly. 

Her mother sighed, brushing a thumb over her daughter’s cheek. The wax on the candle slowly dripped down the stalk towards the holder, and the orange flame was comforting as it waved and danced her to slumber.

Her mother’s voice was smooth and low, sweetly drifting her towards her dreamland filled with colorful and wonderful, new things. 

“Where the North wind, meets the sea,” 

She sang, pulling the blanket up below her daughters chin, smiling. 

“There’s a river, full of memory.”

The little girl shifted to her side so she faced the dying candle, cuddling into her plush blanket and letting her eyes fall shut slowly, so the last thing she saw would be the dancing shadows on the wall. She felt like they danced for her, telling her they’d see her in her dreams and they’d teach her how to dance just like them.

“Sleep my darling, safe and sound, for in this river all is found.”

…

The wooden floor of the apartment was cold and unwelcoming, her muscles aching with discomfort as she lay on her side, head against the ground and her eyes distant. She gazed at nothing in particular, the numbing pain in her abdomen having subdued to a dull, throbbing reminder. 

The wood was stained with blood as it pooled around her slowly, reaching towards the world around her and soaking the fabric of her dress. Her lips trembled, eyes fluttering closed, a strain to try to fight it and reopen them towards the world around her. She was afraid, scared, hurt. She grasped one of her distant memories, the one that would calm her in her broken state, a guide towards the peace and tranquility she longed for. Like a knot that was slowly coming undone, she only wished for it to move faster, to just let her be at peace. But the world held her tight, and the pain didn’t go away. 

“In her waters, deep and true...” Her voice was so faint, a trembling whisper, and her body stretched so slightly, her eyes watching and longing for something she could only see herself. 

“Lie the answers, and a path for you.”

The stinging in her stomach slowly melted away, and so did the world around her. She strained to push out the lullaby, her heart aching more than the wound in her abdomen. 

“Dive down deep into her sound, for all is lost…”

She took one last fluttering breath.

“And all is found.”

Her eyes slowly fluttered up to the figure standing above her, and for a moment there was a sort of sad acceptance in his eyes, but he didn't show it. No one could read him as well as she could, she knew. 

“Alastor…” She smiled sadly, turning back to stare at the wall, past this world into the heavenly realm beyond. 

“I love you.”

Alastor watched her finally die, the blood pooling around his dress shoes and dripping down his blade onto the wooden floor. 

He tilted his head, taking in his last moments with her weak, broken form. 

Her limp hand was still in its meak attempt to cover the wound in her stomach, the other reaching out for something far away, something he couldn’t see. The creak of the building was so loud in the silence, the quiet feeling like it was smothering him. Her hair was splayed out like a halo, her eyes empty and the life that she had been so full of drained away. There wasn’t any guilt in his heart for what he had done, there never was, though the thought of her he knew would follow him for some time. Her voice, the haunting singing as she died on the floor. Such an unfitting way to die, he thought, for someone so lively, so elegant, so dainty. 

But he couldn’t help it, it had to be done, eventually, anyway. There was a part of her that must have always known, that life could not go on forever as it had been. 

He leaned down on one knee beside her body, brushing his fingers over her eyes so they were closed to the world, a final goodbye. His own farewell.

His head snapped up the sound of approaching sirens outside. 

By the time the police had entered the apartment, the door already swung wide open, her body was the only thing in the downtrodden space, laid out on the floor before them. 

~

Daisy stayed huddled on the floor, clutching her stomach with her arms. Her teeth chattered, although her room wasn’t any colder than usual. She could feel nerves firing through her body, and her heart was pumping with a sort of fear induced adrenaline. She didn’t realize she was crying until a tear landed on the plush carpet. What was happening? It felt like her body was resisting against her, like there was a dark, unsettling urge clawing through her stomach after being tucked away for so long. 

She gasped for air, trying to stand but quickly stumbling and grabbing the bed for support. 

The dizziness was fading away, and all the colour around her seemed to be shifting and changing around, but the swirling world around her was slowly settling. In its place was a chilling feeling of need, like there was a part of her itching for something. 

A flash of movement caught her eye, and she glanced upwards, shocked and confused and still in the heat of a dazed like state. 

There, in the middle of her room, was a girl, standing, staring at her. 

Her head was tilted down towards the floor but her eyes were fixed on Daisy with raw, unadulterated agony and hatred. She didn’t say anything, and they stared at each other. The girls hair fell in front of her face, and her eyes were blazing with an infinite fire of resentment, crazed and fixated. 

Daisy took a shuddering breath in. 

It was her. Well, not her, but a young her, what she used to be. There was no mistaking it, whether it be a sick prank pulled on her by her mind, a cruel and twisted illusion. Her before she died. 

Corrupted, wrought, broken, hopeless.

Suddenly static filled her ears and the whine of a radio make her cringe, her head experiencing a shot of pain at the shrill noise. 

“Still haven’t gotten over those episodes, have you?”

Looking back up, she realized the image was gone, and the burning feeling of her own gaze staring back at her had disappeared. It was all an illusion, she told herself, just the result of your paranoia. Despite her reasoning there was a part of her that still didn’t believe it. She glared towards the place where the illusion had stood, tightening her grip on the fabric of her dress and shooting a venomous glance to the side, not completely satisfying him with her full attention.

“This is all your fault, you know, you smug bastard, now take your static and get outta my room.”

Alastor’s sharp grin gleamed in the darkness of the room, and he took a few long strides towards her till he loomed over her figure, eyeing her vulnerable form up and down. 

“My fault, you say! Well, darling, you break my heart!” He put a hand on his forehead to fein suffering.

Daisy felt rage rear its ugly head in her chest, and suddenly the world seemed to snap into clarity. It was like all of the energy and nerves fired into her hands together at the same time, flooding into her finger tips. His conceited attitude made her blood boil, and she clenched her teeth.

Her hands were lunging for his throat before she could even contemplate her actions, her eyes alight with fury. 

Alastor had her wrists in his hands without a struggle at all, and his smile never left his smug face for an instant. He chuckled at her, shaking her head and clicking her tongue, only setting off more fuses of anger in her chest so she was nearly shaking with outrage. 

“My, how unlady like! This is not how I remember your mother raising you at all!” 

She could barely hear him over the blood pumping through her ears, and Alastor was too busy memorizing the animosity on her face out of pure enjoyment he didn’t realize there was smoke beginning to rise from where he had her wrists in his grasp. His hands were burning, gloves sizzling from the sheer heat that was coming from her skin. He dind’t realize until the smoke rose to his eye level and he glanced down. His grin stretched even wider than Daisy thought was possible. Was he so entertained by her annoyance that his own pain that she caused was nothing but a show? 

Nevertheless, he let her go, and she stumbled back with a gasp, the concentrated adrenaline suddenly dispersing and leaving her a gasping mess. 

“My my, that is a new trick for you, my dear!” He complimented, folding his hands behind his back and leaning forwards with an infuriating smile. 

Daisy glared at him, turning away and crossing her arms. 

“Haven’t you ruined my life enough?” 

Alastor adjusted his monocle, moving towards her and standing so they both faced the mirror on her vanity. 

“You’re still on about this, I see. My dear, I never forced you to do anything, if I recall,” He grasped her chin in his hand and forced her head towards the mirror. Instead of their normal reflection they were standing there dressed in normal 20s attire, entirely human and alive and well, no longer dawning their demon forms given to them at death. The Daisy in the mirror stared at her with wide, innocent eyes, but her hands were stained crimson, like she had dipped them in a vat of red. 

A bitter feeling twisted in her chest. She looked away, shutting her eyes from the image. It gave her feelings of melancholy, like an old sort of homesickness. 

As a matter of factly, he said, “I believe it was you who chose to do all those absolutely incorrigible acts.” His voice sounded appalled, as if he was just coming to terms with some shocking news, but his shocked face quickly slipped into a pleasantly reminiscent grin. Daisy made a small noise of shock when he suddenly grabbed her hand and spun her around, dipping her so her hair brushed the floor and their noses were so close she could feel his cold, chilling breath. 

“My, what exhilarating adventures we had, didn’t we?”

“Adventures!?”

Daisy tried to push away from him, baring wicked, sharp teeth in a menacing snarl but his grip was much stronger than hers to match. Her eyes flared with anger. 

“You don’t even understand the pain you caused so many people, that you caused me! You’re nothin’ but a sick, sorry lowlife-” The angrier she got the more her Louisiana accent thickened, and Alastor was nearly rolling with glee in the negative, annoyance driven attention. “You, in my daddy’s name, bless his heart, are the most vile creature on the whole damn Mississippi River, and I’ve met a hell of a lot of sorry excuses for men in this city-”

Alastor’s grin was giddy and stretched from one side of his face to the other, and with a swift movement he swept her up and had her waltzing around the room. There was a hum of old timey music in the background of the room, fuzzy like an old radio nearing the end of its life. Static crackled with the music. 

“Like that poor boy you dealt with earlier?”

Daisy’s feet were suddenly frozen, and she nearly tripped over them and would have fallen if Alastor’s chest had not caught her on the way down. Her breath faltered. How did he know? He had to have been following her. That or he could suddenly read minds, which she knew was not likely a talent he had developed in the years between their last encounter and now. 

“I did what I had to.” Her voice was scratchy, shaky, even. Images ran past her vision, horrible, gorey images of a poor, mangled boy who had done nothing but listen to his orders. Orders, from people she could not risk getting a step ahead of her. She had to do it. To protect her new… friends.

Didn’t she?

Alastor shrugged, twirling her around while humming quietly under his breath. 

“My dear, you’re not as innocent as you’d love to believe,” He smiled down at her with his crimson eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness of the shadowed room, his sharp teeth glinting ominously. “You and I are one in the same.”

Suddenly overwhelmed by a burning sense of anger, strength rippled through her and she shoved herself from his arms, standing with her feet apart, fury evident on her petite, innocent face. Her eyes of blue had suddenly become a stark, fury red, blazing with an uncontrollable rage that felt like it was racing through her veins. Like him? Like him?! She was a lady, he was tempered and controlled and classy, he was nothing but a freak, sick in the head. 

“I AM NOTHING LIKE YOU ALASTOR!”

Wicked flames of purple suddenly sprang to life around her hands, engulfing them up to her wrists in bright royal amethyst that sent light dancing on the walls around them, and shadowing her face so she appeared, in the darkness, as truly a demon to give someone a fright. Alastor only watched her display with a calm manor, and with a wave of his hand his radio appeared in his grasp, and he flashed a toothy grin. 

“I am an Irvine, my father was- was Teddy Irvine and my mother was Dorothy Winchester! I was raised as a lady, and I AM a lady! I am not a sick freak, some… some goddamn animal with no sense of morals, an I can not relate to a lowlife like-”

With a raise of his arm, Alastor tapped his radio on the ground once, and her words were sucked out of her throat as the world around them was swept away.  
Her room was no longer, now replaced by a quiet, cozy house, however small. The home was old fashioned, flowered wall paper, old furniture, and the tune of a record player humming in the corner as it spun. Alastor was still in front of her, smiling, but he wasn’t smiling at her, he was grinning at something behind her. 

She turned around, suddenly realizing she was shaking. 

There was a living room behind them, and the record player in the room spun mindlessly as its song was rung out, and it was splattered with blood. Laying on the carpet under neath it was a woman, her body covered in blood, her chest torn with stab wounds as she lay blankly staring at the ceiling, lips parted. Beside her was a man, her husband, holding her hand as he lay dead, a single, fatal wound in his neck. They were both surrounded by a sickening pool of blood. 

Daisy’s breath fluttered as her gaze slowly, slowly traveled up.

Standing above them was a girl, a blade in her hand that dripped crimson onto the carpet and her dress soaked with blood. She had on fancy silk gloves and there were pearls around her slender neck. Drawn down her face was a smeared, red hand print, and there was a crazed look in her eyes. Her chest was heaving. 

Daisy started to shake. 

A man walked into the room, dressed in a fine suit and a wide, sadistic smile. He took a single look at the carnage and adjusted his monocle, seemingly pleased. The girl didn’t seem to register much else other than his presence, and immediately moved towards him to fall into his arms, smearing the front of him with blood. She dropped the knife, looking up at him.

“Well done, darling, you’ve dealt with our problem splendidly.” he complimented. 

“I did it for you, Al, anything for you. I did it to protect you,” she replied, her eyes so helpless and full with an obsessed sort of love and craving for approval. “I love you, Al. I love you. I’ll do anything for you, I swear on my life.”

Her voice was Louisiana sweet. 

The man chuckled, eyes flashing. She was completely his, so utterly overtaken by love that he had blinded her, turned her into something completely new. 

“I know, Y/N. I know.”


	5. A Little Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy thinks about how she came to be at the hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a flashback. I intended to post this chapter after the first one, but I didn't feel like it was up to the standard I wanted it to be. So, this one takes place about a week before the last chapter. 
> 
> Please, if you have the time, leave a comment, and a like! It really motivates me to keep working at this story. Thank you!

Daisy sat perched on the ledge of her balcony. 

Her eyes were tired and hazy, and her posture was worn. She was downtrodden, she looked defeated, broken, miserable. 

For years, so many years, _decades_ , she had tried to push away all the sins that had haunted her from her mortal life, the mistakes she had made, the people she had wronged. She had convinced herself that she was above them, that she had grown, that although her eternal punishment she would suffer under forever, that didn't mean she couldn't become the good person she once was. 

She glanced down at a necklace that she held in her hands. A locket. She popped it open.

It was a photo, old and tattered, of a family. A man and his wife, their beautiful young daughter, and a helpless baby. She must have been wearing it when she died, but how it followed her down here she didn't know. She didn't know, but she was grateful. It was her only connection to her family, or what used to be. Until she broke it, ripped it apart, until she fell into _his_ evil clutches and let her manipulate her, spit on her image, and then, be rid of her when she wasn't of use. Thinking of the grief her family must have gone through, the horror when they found out what she had done. 

Tears began to run down her face. 

She had pushed the memories away, forced herself to forget about the evil parts of her that ate her alive from the inside, that poisoned her and turned her into something she wasn't. In Hell, you have to be strong and you have to be tough, and sometimes, she had to do things she wish she didn't have to in order to protect something else, an eye for an eye. That's how power worked down here. 

There was a part of her that thought that filling that gaping, empty hole where Alastor had ripped out her heart would sole her problems, that relentlessly clawing her way up the ranks and stealing that power would give her that sense of control back, that she could finally stick it to him and finally say, _I beat you._ But with every piece of power she gained, every territory she conquered and every person she swept under her influence the more empty she felt. There was a part of her that knew that she had spiraled so far down she was unsure if she could crawl back up ever again. Perhaps this _was_ where she belonged, with petty criminals and loathsome sinners. 

But being in the Hotel, all of the people that were relying on the Hotels success, _Charlie,_ who trusted her so quickly and reminded her of herself when she was still young and hopeful. Seeing that kind of joy, knowing how hers was ripped away, she found herself jumping at the chance to protect it. 

She sighed, wiping a tear away. _This was going to become a liability._

Being in this Hotel, knowing that Charlie was counting on her to better herself, chase away the bad parts that were slowly overwhelming her, becoming her, made her feel like the building had eyes that watched her, that analyzed every sin and flipped it inside out and over to inspect her every move. Maybe it would just be easier to give in, to become what she knew Alastor wanted to watch her become, to turn into _him._ In a way, she already had. Maybe she didn't murder and run drugs and do low life acts _as often_ as a lot of other powerhouses, but wasn't manipulation, seduction, cunning, and intimidation just as bad?

"How did I end up here, momma?" She whispered, hiding her face in her hands. Her hair fell all around her, loose and freeing. It made her look much younger. She didn't like looking young, it made her feel immature and childish and reminded her of the innocence she lost when she died. She was only 19. Maybe her appearance hadn't changed since then, but she still did what she could to _pretend_ she had grown. 

A part of her knew she would always be the child she had never grown out of.

~

**_*A WEEK AGO*_ **

_ As night falls in hell, the sky becomes an ominous, deep maroon.  _

_ It is a curtain of shadows, blotching the alleys ways in inky darkness. The blackness that creeps in every corner and every turn is wicked and ominous, and though no one really admits it aloud, not many enjoy venturing into the hidden corners of Hell's hiding places, the two crossed corners where the most heinous sinners slither away to call it home. Very few truly enjoy hell, it’s anarchy, its hazardous lifestyle, its cruel way of life that is meant to condemn those who do not choose to follow the path of the one and only God. Straying from His righteous path, even if only a hair, can condemn oneself to an eternity of doom and suffering. Not many can devote themselves entirely to the purity of His grace, but does that mean every person who does not live in his light is a bad person? _

_ Is it right to say that even if your heart is good and kind, and even if you make a few mistakes but you right them along the way, but you believe that the good in your heart is worth less than the bad things you can do, do you not deserve a chance at redemption, at an eternity of peace? How can plaguing an already sick mind with more darkness, heal the wound where hatred blossoms and bring forth the light that lives in every heart? Does a boy who steals a loaf of bread to feed his mother, belong in the ranks with rapists, serial killers, and drug dealers, only because he does that follow the infinite rule of the Holy Bible? _

_ Only a broken system would say,  this is the way things should be . _

_ One can only grow so used to the violence, slaughter, and the hatred that plagued the depths of hell, the misery and loathsome that seemed to hang in the air like a hot, heavy wind. Each day was a reminder of suffering, each moment passed shared a thankful reminder that it could have been your last. _

_ But there is no night in heaven as there is no day in Hell, only an infinite clock that turns and never stops turning to give a moment's rest. Night and day in hell may not be real, but it is the closest thing to making its residents feel something close to human again, as if losing the pattern of night and day would be a grim reminder that Earth is no more for you and schedule is a luxury you did not earn committing your sins.  _

_ Although there are no stars to dot the hellish night sky in hell, God allowed for the sky to darken just a little, a blanket, a small gift that would just so slightly hold onto the humanity of the sinners below.  _

_ Alastor enjoyed watching the sky darken, or was it that he enjoyed watching the meek skitter home away from the stretching darkness and the foul occupants of Hell that  truly  belonged there slipped from hiding places. He never found that he missed the stars or the white, hot sun and the cold, motherly moon. Alastor always knew he would go to Hell, because he knew that he wouldn’t just  go,  he would  rule .  _

_ The tap of his shoes on the sidewalk is enough to send those still lingering in gaggles to scurry home, eyeing him with terror as they disappeared like meek children into hiding places. Across the street, an abandoned motel sign flickered in neon purple, VACANT, a few letters disappearing then reappearing as the light held onto its last bit of life.  _

_ Alastor knew he would always go to Hell and he would always  stay  in Hell, and he had always presumed it was the same for others too. For weeks, his brain had been jumping about in excitement, because he was being fed something  new,  something  exciting. When you go to Hell, that is your punishment for eternity and more, that was the rule.  _

_ But now Alastor was second guessing himself. No, he didn’t second guess that Hell was an ending to an unfortunate joke that is life on Earth, he knew that there was nothing beyond the infinite suffer condemned to sinners, but he had been wrong presuming that everyone felt this way. _

_ Charlie, such a small girl, so naive and foolish and  absolutely wrong , but nevertheless, her childlike hope had shown him something, an opportunity. She believed that rehabilitation was a future that was plausible, and now, when he heard people murmur and gossip about her project, though commonly it was perceived as a silly joke, more and more he would catch whispers of people asking, is it possible? _

_ She had started something. Regardless of how quickly it would die, she had started it. _

_ Alastor paused in his stroll along the sidewalk outside of a preppy, neon illuminated, popular nightspot. Despite the rundown look of the rest of the street, the building stood out in its well kept demeanor and put together appearance. There was a small crowd gathered outside, and faintly through the wind he could catch the swing of soft jazz music hanging in the air. There was a small crowd of people standing outside, and as he approached they all curled into themselves and looked away in fright. The pink neon light of the sign was bright and illuminated Alastor to the point where he looked like a frightening ghost with the shadows that were stretching down his face, his eyes piercing as he grinned ahead of him. _

_ He skipped the line of people waiting along the building, and no one objected. No one even dared. He approached the door with no apprehension, knocking thrice faintly on its sturdy, reinforced metal. A latch slid open quickly, and a lazy pair of eyes peered through without really looking at him. _

_ “Password?” _

_ Alastor’s grin stretched in amusement.  _

_ “Well, my good fellow, my memory does seem to be alluding me! But I’m here to see an old friend, I suppose that would be enough to permit a good man through, wouldn’t you agree?” _

_ The demon on the other side looked back through in annoyance, until they realized who he was, a faint gasp sounding through the opening. The latch slid closed, and Alastor tapped his foot on the ground patiently as multiple clicks and groans were heard on the other side, and the metal door was pulled open. The sound of jazz bellowed into the air from behind the doorkeeper. _

_ “I-I’m sorry sir, I didn’t realize-” _

_ Alastor brushed past the demon nonchalantly, bouncing his radio microphone back and forth between his hands and humming along to the music. The door was shut behind him.  _

_ The jazz was smooth and relaxing, fitting nicely with the low lit demeanor of the nightspot. The outside neon appearance was a stark contrast to the red velvet seating and dark oak pool tables, meticulously carved, and soft white tables were hosting games of high end gambling addicts. The stage to his left, he took no mind of the band or the bar beside it and strolled through the crowd, his eyes raking over every head and face. As his presence became known through the club, voices settled and whispers rippled through the crowd, and he heard his name jump around a few times in a hushed murmur. Heads turned his way, the demons that occupied the place dressed smartly and decorated in expensive, meaningless things that he paid no mind to. People moved around him, clearing a path as he sauntered through the crowd, ducking out of his way.  _

_ He approached a pool table at the opposite end of the room, and he stopped, placing his cane firmly in front of him with a meticulous smile. _

_ The group playing is made of demons who are dressed up all glitzy and posh, the clack of the pool ball rings through the circle as a large, wide muscled demon makes his play. The ball collides with another, sending it straight into the hole that is directly in front of Alastor. The man holding the stick chews a toothpick between his sharp, ragged teeth, and as he watches his ball disappear his eyes travel upwards, slowly widening until they meet Alastors face. He stood up straight slowly, passing the pool stick to a lady beside him in a revealing red dress who sat perched on the pool table, her legs crossed and a cigarette between her fingers. The rest of the demons around the table notice his presence as well, all standing quickly straight to try to paint an aura of confidence, eyes wide. _

_ “You know you ain’t welcome here, freak.” The man’s voice is low and rough, but he doesn’t pull any sort of weapon on Alastor, for he isn’t a fool. Alastor knows that’s what he’s told to say, the only thing he’s  allowed  to say, and he’s right. Alastor is not welcome here, and he knows it very well, but it doesn’t stop him.  _

_ The Radio Demon grins enthusiastically, sending a ripple of unease through the group. He lifts his cane and places his other hand on his chest, bowing politely with a tilted grin.  _

_ “I’m not here to cause any ruckus, my dear fellow, I’m simply here to see an old friend,” He straightens, glancing around. “And I happen to know you’re the perfect man to point me in the right direction.” _

_ The man spits on the floor, glaring and puffing out his chest.  _

_ “Give me one good reason why-” _

_ Alastor tightens his grip on his cane and his head snaps towards the man, his eyes full of crazed malice, and a glass of whisky that sits beside the man on the table explodes into a million pieces. The dame sitting on the table screams and leaps away from the shards of glass, and the whole group steps back in shock.  _

_ Alastors eyes grew dark and his smile is wide but telling, and he doesn’t have to say anything else, the man stepping back and stuttering as he tries to find the words to say. He swallowed, trying to regain his posture under the piercing gaze of Alastor, and he nods, unable to make eye contact.  _

_ “Right this way.” _

_ The man leads Alastor through the throng of people who move out of the way as fast as they can. The only sound that can be heard is the jazz music, every voice in the building has been muted, and Alastor relishes in the  attention  and the  fear  that is practically buzzing in the air. There is no clinks of glasses colliding, no casual conversations and not a single, daring whisper.  _

_ Alastor is lead towards the back of the building to a navy blue door. The paint is bold and there is no peeling, and Alastor is impressed with the upkeep of the place. They stop in front of the door where two large, bull demons with heads that have been replaced with an empty ox skull and large, curled horns that could pierce through flesh stand on each side.  _

_ The gatekeepers. _

_ They say nothing, and only look to the man leading Alastor through. They don’t even  look  at Alastor, and the aura that waves off of them is something unkindly and not from this world, there is no evidence of ever having life before. They are husks, existing only for work and service, creatures that have been made from the shadows that hide in every corner. They are not afraid of him, for they can only acknowledge the existence of the one asking to enter.  _

_ They are the guardians,  her  guardians, and they serve her as a payment for their creation. _

_ Alastor raises an eyebrow, impressed and curious. _

_ “Let ‘im through. He’s here to see the missus.” The man grumbles, and the giant husks need no more persuasion as one of them stiffly turns to the door, and raps on it once, twice, thrice, and once more.  _

_ There is a pause, and from the other side, the door is opened slowly by another husk of the same size, stature, and species, the missing triplet. _

_ Alastor’s guide steps aside, and the Radio Demon pays him no mind as he strolls forwards into the room, pausing only to peer into the empty skull of one of the guards with a wide, curious smile.  _

_ He enters the room, and the door is shut behind him. The jazz music becomes muffled, a barely hanging background noise. The guard behind him goes back to standing beside the door, un moving, his head swivelling to follow Alastor as he turns to take in the room.  _

_ There’s a large circular table in the centre of the room, reserved only for those of high enough status. Most of the seats are empty, save for maybe half a dozen heads that look up upon his arrival. Fancy, pinstriped suits and feathered boas, a deck of cards mid shuffle as he walks through the door. Alastor is suddenly the center of some very hostile attention.  _

_ At the head of the table directly across from Alastor, is a young woman who eyes him with incredible venom and fury. Her long, thick waves are pulled over one shoulder and glow a creamy blond under the light of the chandelier. The sclera of her eyes are a rich azure, her irises a blaring white in contrast, and her full, cherry lips are pulled tight in a frown as she glares up at him. Her shoulders are decorated by a soft, pastel pink feather boa, and tall, glittering horns pierce from her head. _

_ Her and Alastor make tense eye contact, the Radio Demon’s face curved into an enthusiastic,  infuriating  smile, leaning both hands on his cane. _

_ The girl shifts in her seat, adjusting the boa so she sinks into it a little bit more, and she eyes Alastor with a mix of suspicion and annoyance, as well as a dash of curiosity, from under the long, dark eyelashes. _

_ “See yourselves out.” She commands, her young and sweet voice sweeping filling the room. Her eyes never leave Alastor, and the guests around the table stand at their own time to leave, not arguing in the presence of such a notorious powerhouse. _

__ When they’re alone, Alastor swings his cane around then leans on it with one elbow.   
  
“Daisy, my dear! This place sure has grown into something quite extraordinary-”

_ “Cut the shit, Alastor, you know you ain’t welcome here.” She hisses, turning in her chair and standing to walk over to the wall directly to her right. She peers at a large, exquisite painting, depicting a woman standing atop a cliffside, but the waters below are red and ominous and violent.  _

_ Alastor strides over to stand alongside her, side eyeing her. His towering stature gives him at least a foot and a half or two over her, practically dwarfing her petite figure. She struggles to look at him.  _

_ Though she doesn’t show it, knowing that if he ever knew of her nerves he would manipulate it and use it to belittle her to the ground, her chest is tight with anxiety. She’s not sure if she has anything left of a heart, but something is fluttering in its place, the overwhelming feeling of his chaotic and sinister energy making her skin crawl and hair stand on end.  _

_ “Why are you here, Al? Come to ruin my life some more?” She murmured, glancing up at him with rich, royal blue eyes. He lets out a bark of laughter, and she gasps when he swings an arm around her shoulders and turns her to face the open, empty space of the room, his other arm out in display.  _

_ “My dear, you have always been ever the dramatic! No, today I’m here for something a little different,” He slides his hand down, slipping her hand in his and giving her a spin before letting her go so she ends up standing across from him. _

_ With a victorious smile he spreads his arms out wide, staring into the distance with a wide grin.  _

_ “Darling, today I am here with a business proposal!” He looks at her and winks. “One I’m sure you’d enjoy hearing about.” The crackle of his radio static voice is accompanied by a ghostly applause, and the woman gapes at him in shock, then suspicion, taking a step backward. She bares sharp, pointed teeth, burying herself in her feather boa. _

_ “Alastor, I swear on my momma’s grave, if this is one of your sick jokes I don’t wanna hear nothin’ of it!” She snaps, turning away and tapping her foot impatiently. “You think you can just waltz in here like everythin’ is fine and dandy! Like everythin’ that happened between us is just gone with the wind! Well sugar, you know damn well if there’s anyone who ain’t takin’ your shit, it’s me!”  _

_ She spins around, staring him down with her head low. “I’m not scared of you, Alastor.” _

_ Alastor doesn’t move from his position, arms still spread in magnificent dramatics as he grinned at her. _

_ After a few moments of tense silence, she rolled her eyes, looking away.  _

_ “You have exactly 5 minutes to convince me.” _

_ “There’s the doll I know so well! I knew you’d come around!” He laughed excitedly, before grabbing her and pulling her in close, waving his hand in front of her like he was setting the scene for a story.  _

_ “The stage is set! Imagine this…  rehabilitation .” _

_ The girl raises an eyebrow. _

_ “What?” _

_ “Rehabilitation, my dear! A chance at betterment, a new self! Think about it, a chance to leave down here…” A faint crackle of a laughing track with steady applause rings out as he clenches his fist in passion. “And be accepted up top with the big man himself!” _

_ The girl pushed away from him, crossing her arms.  _

_ “Alastor, you really have lost your damn mind. Serves you right, you good for nothin-” _

_ He silences her with a finger to the lips, before taking his cane microphone and waving it in a semicircle along the ground in front of him. Flames of violet burst from the ground where he draws, and her petite face is illuminated by the dancing light of the flames, and her eyes go wide in awe. He slips around the fire, standing behind her and leaning down to speak quietly into her ear.  _

_ “Just think about it my dear. A chance to leave this minor role and be part of the big picture up above! Redemption! Forgiveness! All your sins cleansed away…” His voice is low and sultry, eyes narrowed. In the purple flames a picture is painted, a young girl on her knees, weeping into her hands. _

_ “All your suffering, forgotten. No more struggling up the steep hill of eternal damnation…” He whispers, and the fire flickers, the girl now standing and dancing with joy, large feathered wings sprouting from her back and a glowing halo above her head.  _

_ Daisy looks to Alastor in disbelief.  _

_ “Alastor, what in god's name has gotten into you! Do you really believe… that demons can become... good?” Her voice is soft and faint, and for a moment, hopeful.  _

_ With a snap the fire extinguishes itself and Alastor stands up straight, belting out in laughter as he walked away, breaking her from a euphoric trance. She turned to glare at him, growling.  _

_ “No, no, my dear! There’s a reason it’s called eternal damnation,” he chuckles, leaning on his cane as he turned back to face her, his rows of pointed, shark like teeth glinting in the light. There’s something sinister in the way he smiles, and it makes Daisy uneasy. She shifts her stance, putting her hands on her hips. “I am merely an optimistic business man! I had you for a moment there, after all, didn’t I?” _

_ He lets out a hysterical laugh, and heat rises to her cheeks. Before she can argue, he composes himself and continues with animated hand gestures.  _

_ “I can simply see the potential in this little project! Think of it, demons in and out,  vulnerable ,  exposed . It’s an endless source of  manipulation and power .” He lets the words roll off his tongue like it gets him off in a sick, horrible way, and Daisy narrows her eyes.  _

_ “What does any of this have to do with me? How is this worth bargin’ into my club just for a pretty light show?” She argued, crossing her arms. Alastor’s head slowly turned to her, and he stalks across the room like a predator, grin wide and intimidating. She has to fight the urge to back away, because then he knows that he is the one with power in the room, and there is no way on Gods earth is she letting him manipulate her under her own roof, in her business. He takes both her hands in his, leaning down so that she can feel his cold breath on her skin. He drinks in the fear that she can’t help but control in her rich, blue eyes. _

_ “Because darling, you and I know that we work  very  well together.” He murmurs, and as he tightens his grip on her hands the world around them flashes for a moment, and they’re not in hell, they’re in a small studio apartment thats straight from the 20s.  _

_ Home , Daisy thinks longingly, and the illusion disappears. She knows he’s playing with her emotions, her pain, and he’s telling her without words that he is her only connection to her life back on Earth, and he knows there’s a part of her that wants out of this wretched place, to be at peace, and he is her key to that.  _

_ He wants her to need him. He puts a finger under her chin and tilts her head up, chuckling.  _

_ “You’re the only one I trust enough with this very important job,  y/n .” _

_ He holds out a hand in front of her, his palm glowing with a flickering green that illuminates the room.  _

_ “So, my dear, care to strike a deal?” _


	6. Baby steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy receives a mysterious letter. Charlie encourages her start towards redemption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for such a long wait. I'm not on my winter break, and will be devoting much more time to this story. I've already got the next chapter finished, so I can stay ahead, so that one will be up on Tuesday so I can stay a step ahead! This chapter focuses mostly on Daisy's inner dialogue, but is an important lead up to the next chapter, which will be very exciting and juicy. 
> 
> Once again, if you enjoy, please take the time to leave a comment. Your guys support and opinions really do help me keep this story moving and motivates me to get these chapters out even faster! Also, I've been thinking of opening up a blog for this story, so if you'd be interested, please let me know. You could send me anything related to this story or ask any questions, and if I do decide to open up a blog I'll be giving the first few followers some tidbits towards the lore of this story. Thank you so much, every single one of you personally, for reading, it really lifts me up when I'm feeling down. Enjoy, and I'll see you next Tuesday!

When Daisy woke up from her returning dreams of threatening shadows, she was laying on top of her duvet, still dressed in yesterday’s clothing. The chill of the morning air made her shudder and sent goosebumps racing all up and down her skin, and she huddled closer into her body to fend off the cold. Her eyes felt swollen and heavy when she tried to peer out the window towards the dusty red light to see how late she had slept, and she rubbed her palms against them to try to fight off sleep. Shifting herself so she sat on the edge of the bed, she ran her fingers through her hair to try to break through the majority of the tangles, wincing at how messy she had let it become. 

She ran a hand down her face, her eyes weary as they travelled around the room. She was so tired, so drained emotionally that she had half a heart to roll over and slip under the welcoming covers and let sleep pull her away. She had to nearly fight against her body to stand and walk to her bathroom, telling herself that her reoccuring dreams were not worth dealing with anymore today. They were more frequent now, although the same dream that kept seeming to visit her. She always found herself in that forest at night, wandering, listening to that same sweet song that was  _ calling  _ to her.

She splashed cool water over her face, and it helped her fight her exhaustion enough, but she still felt no energy to face the coming day and what it had to offer. 

She glanced up into the mirror, touching her cheeks and turning her face back and forth to get a good look at her disheveled state. Dark circles had found a home around her eyes, making her appear hollow and unkempt, an unfitting state for a lady such as herself. 

After finding the energy to peel her dress from her body despite her aching limbs arguing against her, the steaming water of her shower is welcomed eagerly, and she nearly melts under the soothing heat of the pounding stream of water. Without all the luxuries she was accustomed to at her own home, left tended to by imps that obeyed her every whim, the delightful quality of the hotel’s goods and chattels was comforting, however much she didn’t want to admit. Isn’t part of rehabilitation denouncing your sins, and didn’t revelling in luxury count as greed? She entertained the thought of redemption very briefly. After the events of last night, the mere idea of self betterment felt so far away. A surge of anger raced through her at the thought of her victimization, what she had been turned into. Surely, if she had never met Alastor that fateful night, she would have never ended up here in the first place. 

Right?

The vague idea of redemption of course had crossed her mind when she decided to put her energies into the benefit of the Hotel, and of course she had imagined what it would be like, saved from this hell hole, this torture, thsi endless pit of misery. Most assumed that when you became as powerful as even the strongest, the most influential, when  _ you  _ became the one calling the shots, it got easier, that you had all you needed to make it somewhat  _ enjoyable,  _ that having so many people grovel at your feet actually made it a somewhat decent existence. They were wrong. Daisy spent every waking moment hating her presence in this loathsome realm, shifting erratically between regret over what she’d done, hatred for the power she had, and feeling exhilarated at the power she could command. It was a torturous existence, constantly wishing for more and always living with the voice at the back of your head  _ wishing  _ that maybe, if yoy had been just a little more kind, a little more giving, you wouldn’t have to suffer with the reality of this waking Hell. 

And she knew she wasn’t the only one. She remembered, sitting in her club, surrounded by powerful assosciates and watching the joke of the news channel and Charlie’s little display, and how everyone had scoffed, laughed. She didn’t laugh. 

They only laughed because they had given up, because they themselves had already tried, and had found it hopeless, a fruitless quest for absolution. It was more so a laugh of pity then a laugh of taunting.

Daisy frowned under the pounding pressure of the shower, the steam closing around her and her hair plastered down her back and the sides of her face. She absently rubbed a lovely scented gel into her shoulders, peering into the steam in thought. She had come here for business, she had seen the opportunity this project had to offer, and that had been her only motivation right? That, and the deal she had struck with- 

She shuddered at the thought of him, going back to wash her skin against just to scrub his memory away. 

Daisy was no fool, there was no deal she would engage in with such a loathsome creature that she would not benefit from equally or more so than him, and the rules were always transparent. She wondered if she was one of the only people under the Pentagram who didn’t cower at his heels. 

She didn’t cower, she wasn’t afraid of him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have some sort of unholy grasp on her, not information that could be used to take her down, but to torture her for his own sheer entertainment. No, Daisy wasn’t afraid of him. She was more so mad, really, holding a fury that could easily be invoked should he cross one of the many lines she had drawn between them. She  _ hated  _ him. 

She slowly drew a small picture in the steam on the glass door, tilting her head regretfully. 

She  _ wished  _ she hated him.

Their deal had only been mutually beneficial, and was really the least of her concerns, written out precisely with witness so they were evenly dealt an amount of power over the other, partners. They had agreed to work together, to help each other use what influence this Hotel would bring, so they could both always guarantee a friend on the inside. 

Daisy frowned at the deer she had drawn on the glass, a stick figure buck with tall antlers, and quickly wiped it away with her forearm, huffing.  _ Not  _ a friend. A business partner. An  _ associate.  _

Her mind drifted to pleasantly innocent Charlie, and she wondered how she would react if she knew the only thing that had really brought her here was her deal with Alastor, that without his intervention she wouldn't have taken such an interest in her little project.

She washed her thick hair, muttering in annoyance at the sheer amount of shampoo she had to use just to get through all of it. Her mother had always said her beautiful hair was a blessing but she very strongly thought otherwise.

She was reluctant to finish her shower, nearly convincing herself that she could stay under the warm water for the entirety of her day and avoid confronting her problems, but she knew there was likely stuff to be done. There was an entire Hotel to help tidy and get set up, and she wondered if Charlie had any plans for anyone's rehabilitation. Volunteer work, perhaps? Buying food for the homeless? She was familiar with the idea, she had done lots of charity work while she was alive. Well, before she was horribly corrupted by a psychopath cannibal who used her for his gain then discarded her like an old toy. The thought of Charlie forcing Alastor to do  _ kind  _ deeds for others made her happy. His suffering made her happy. He deserved it, that jerk. 

When she left her shower she made getting dressed a top and fast priority, trying to flee from the cold air after leaving the protection of her shower by wrapping herself in warm clothing. She chose an outfit with more leeway for movement today, high waisted trousers and a white blouse. She let her hair down to dry, it would stay wet all day if she put it up otherwise. Staring into the mirror, she absentmindedly tapped her tall, sparkly horns and rubbed her fingers together. There were flecks of glitter that had transferred onto her skin. 

She hummed to herself. Odd, but she paid it no mind and carried on with her day.

When she was finished getting ready, after spending a bit of time standing on her balcony to appreciate the morning that the world had to offer, with all its car accidents and overdoses and what not.

Finally gathering the energy to go out into the world, she slowly dragged herself over to her door to prepare herself for whatever the day had to offer. 

She stopped when something caught her eye. 

There was a piece of paper on her pillow, folded over once very neatly, resting gently so it was clear it had been placed with intent. 

Daisy glanced around her room, suspicion welling in her chest. Someone had been in her room, because that had  _ definitely  _ not been there before, unless she was just going plain mad. She was hesitant to pick it up, unsure of its intent. For all she knew it could be a trick, from all her years in Hell she had learned not to trust anything you already trusted, and never trust anything new. So, don’t trust anything. 

But she was Daisy, kingpin Daisy of Hell’s southern nightspots and queen of New Orleans, and she had dealt with worse than a paper. 

She only had to take one step to reach her bed from the door, and picking up the paper she noted the intricate wax emblem pressed to seal the note together. Peeling it apart delicately, her fingers nimble and light, there were very few words to be found on the page as she read it through in her head. 

**_00001 Saint St._ **

**_Top floor._ **

**_The ringmaster has requested your presence._ **

**_Your attendance will be an honor and a delight._ **

**_Bring no guests._ **

**_Come when convenient, before the days end._ **

**_Bring no one._ **

**_An old friend._ **

Daisy frowned, glancing around her room once more cautiously. Ringmaster? She was unsure if this was some sort of up and coming self proclaimed powerhouse, possibly someone new on the board that was this twisted, complicated game of war that was looking to make ties. She couldn’t recall hearing the name Ringmaster through the grapevine, but whoever this was claimed to be an old friend, someone she knew. She dug through her memories but found no recollection, and there was a twisting feeling in her gut that something was  _ wrong.  _ But who would she be if she backed down? If she showed any sort of fear then her whole image would crumble, everything she had built would fall. 

She folded the letter and tucked it in her pocket, wiping any emotion from her head to have a clean slate. She wasn’t afraid, being in Hell for so many decades meant she had seen many things worse than a  _ letter, _ and she couldn’t help but admit her curiosity had been peaked and would likely get the better of her. She knew she could fend her own, she had proved that well enough, so that aspect didn’t frighten her in the slightest.

What most concerned her was how someone had slipped into her room without her noticing, and out as well. 

She would protect her room with magic later, perhaps a protection spell. A simple recipe, really. It had been a long time since she had dealt with witches magic or voodoo. She had been familiar with the latter, though, long before death, what with New Orleans being a voodoo hotspot for decades upon decades.

Pushing the thought towards the back of her mind, she started making a list of things in her head that she would need. She would have to visit some old friends, travel to some parts of town she hadn’t visited in quite some time, stop by some particular market places on the outskirts of the city. She wondered if she would have to travel to any other circles of Hell to find what she needed.. The Garden, her club, where she usually spends most of her days and nights and had her own room furnished to her likings, had been sealed off and protected by black magic decades ago, and had been a sure safe haven for her ever since, but now living in a new environment she would have to slip into that old part of herself she hadn’t encountered in quite some time. Standing in her room, the thought of leaving her belongings and new living quarters unprotected left an uneasy feeling in her stomach, knowing that someone had accessed her personal space. For a moment she wondered if Alastor could be behind this, he always did have a foot in everything mysterious and elusive and dangerous after all, but there was a part of her that was doubtful this was his work. 

Shifting on her feet, Daisy faced the middle of the room and closed her eyes. She would have to do some minor protection, then, however rusty she was. Just a precaution.

The air in the room started to vibrate, and electricity seemed to sizzle in the air around her as she lifted one of her hands, sharp tipped fingers clenching and unclenching. She felt the energy of the world around her start to shift and flow through her, slipping in and out of her skin like water, until slowly the buildup of magic moved into her fingers and she was able to grab it with a steady hold. Her hair, loose and free, started to float up around her head, twisting in the air like a halo of ethereal, dark magic, and from under the skin on her hands a lavender tinted light started to glow. Harnessing the moments of magic that she could grab, with her fingers she painted a simple symbol in the air, circles and stars and overlapping triangles till, glowing in the middle of the room, was a symbol carved out of precious and fragile light that had seemed to come from the very tips of her fingers. 

She stepped back, and like a cool gust of wind the symbol dissipated, melting into the room and fizzling out like a dying candle, slowly, until it disappeared in a dull flash of colour before a wave of purple blossomed from beneath the symbol and ran over the walls and the furniture like a powerful wave. The energy that had collected itself in her body felt like it spilled from her skin, rushing down her veins until it escaped through her fingers and her hair slowly drifted down, like a leaf falling from its branch, till it was limp against her back again. The glow from under her skin in her hands disappeared. 

Content, Daisy stepped back, confident in her temporary spell of protection. That would keep anyone not living in the hotel from entering, till she could gather herself enough and find what she needed to permanently wrap her magical hold around the hotel itself.

She briskly moved towards her door, folding the letter and gently tucking it into her pocket, grabbing the handle with new enthusiasm and pulling it open-

She nearly cried out in shock, practically nose to nose with a beaming Alastor. His smile was giddy and accusing, his eyes wide and drinking in her appearance. He clutched his microphone in front of him with two hands so tight you would think it would break, and the radio static around him was wildly jumping from station to station and voices of excitement cheered over the noise. 

Excitedly, he adjusted his monocle, standing straight up with a mischievous grin. 

“My dear, I  _ thought  _ I felt black magic but I didn’t think it could possibly be you!” He swung his cane around in a twirl, brushing past her and turning in a circle around the room like he was taking in the decoration. “Breaking out the old book of tricks, are you?”

Daisy didn’t respond. She stared at him with annoyance, not wanting to give him the time of day. He didn’t deserve her attention, she wouldn’t let him know that he got under her skin, because then he would  _ win.  _ And after everything he had done, digging up every last painful memory and shoving it in her face, reminding her of the scathing sin that stained her hands that she could never scrub off. She had to clench her hands awful tight to refrain from summoning a weapon to dig into his stomach. She wanted to watch him writhe in pain, to feel what he made her feel. 

She didn’t let her face show him that, though. 

Calm and poised, Daisy turned away from him and strode out the door, ignoring his gaze as it followed her. 

He was in front of her in a moment, slipping through his shadows to block her path way. He gave her a demeaning smile. 

“Oh, darling, no one likes a poor sport-”

“ _ Sugar,”  _ She murmured, staring him down with eyes that didn’t lack any flood of emotion at all, filled with swirls of frustration and anger and… sadness.

“ _ Leave me alone.”  _

Alastor’s expression faltered for a moment as she brushed past him, leaving him staring down the hall behind them. He listened to the sound of her quiet footsteps moving away. Turning around, her watched her back move down the hall, her strawberry blond hair bouncing as she briskly walked away from him. His eyebrows furrowed down and his eyes narrowed, his hands tightening their grip on his microphone. The feeling of dark magic was slowly seeping from her room, and he slammed her door shut to lock it away without even looking, sealing the spell away. Curiosity peaked inside of him. In the quiet hallway, he could feel a familiar pricle touch his skin, a feeling that reminded him of a sensation he always got walking the old streets of New Orleans, a feeling like the air had been shifted just enough that you could barely feel it, the effect of  _ voodoo _ on the aspect of reality. Familiar, and he didn’t like it. Witches magic had always been disagreeable with him. 

Daisy had to falter her steps for a moment when Alastor slipped from the shadows to reappear in front of her, leaning down to her height with his eyes narrowed and suspicious. Ignoring him, she brushed past his figure. She hoped to whatever God was out there he would find someone else to bother, perhaps Husk would be a suitable host for him to latch onto. She needed this day for herself, she couldn’t have him tagging along where she was going. He would catch on right away, she knew he wasn’t stupid.

“Black magic, Daisy? How long ago did you leave that behind, hm? Extermination of 1978, I do believe, my how time has flown by,”

Alastor gave her a sideways glance, running his tongue over his teeth. The more she ignored him and stared ahead, navigating the winding halls as if he wasn’t there just made him all the more curious, peaking his interest in good and bad ways. Alastor, in all his time in Hell, had had his fair share of run ins with black magic, and it always left a distasteful linger on his skin, like dust that settled after a fire of wreckening. He was a tolerant man, and he always kept an open mind towards the natural curiosities of this world. 

_ However, black magic had many fine, dangerous lines that not even he enjoyed tampering with.  _

Alastor was no  _ fool.  _

Abruptly, Alastor brought his microphone down with a crack onto the grown in front of her, stopping her dead in her tracks as his head slowly rotated to look at her. His smile had taken on a more threatening air, his eyes narrowing down at her. Slowly, his body She barely flinched, and when she turned to meet his gaze with defiance she crossed her arms and faced him with dignity. Alastor had to resist giving her a mocking laugh. 

She really did look like a little, harmless lamb. Easily underestimated. It had always been her greatest advantage. 

“What do you want?” She spat, glaring him down. Alastor placed a hand on his forehead as if swooned, feigning heartbreak. 

“Such old friends, and you still treat me so. Hurtful, really,”

“I’m not friends with lyin’, cheatin’ filth.”

Alastor gave her a sly smile, running a pointed finger down her jaw slowly. His voice came out like a vibrating purr.

“Right, if I do recall we were much  _ more  _ than that, dearest.”

Daisy shoved him back, her eyes blazing with anger. Alastor relished in knowing he had crawled his way under her skin, setting into her thoughts and revelling in the hilarity that was the blush rising to her cheeks. She slapped her hands up to hide the warmth in her cheeks and whipped away from him, anger bubbling in her chest. Alastor didn’t waver, slipping around her and looking over like a mountain and casting her form in the ominous shadows of his very presence. 

“I thought even you rose above  _ voodoo,  _ a precariats hobby, really, my dear,” 

She shoved past him, willing him away, to just  _ leave her be  _ for  _ once  _ in her life. His voice was a ringing in her ear, a bloody nuisance that knocked around her head, relentless, never seeming to drift away even when he was gone. Of course, she should have known his interest would peak at the sensation of black magic, he had always been so sensitive to that kind of thing. It would probably would have been smart to plan ahead for his intervenience, but his involvement was honestly the least troubling of her worries. 

Again, her dream of innocent Charlie swarmed by shady demons replayed in her mind, and her brows tilted downward. 

Suddenly she felt a tight grip grab her arms and squeeze them so tight pain was dully beginning to race up her forearm, yanking her back so abruptly she quite nearly lost her footing completely and almost plummeted towards the floor in her stumble.

Alright, she had had it. 

She turned on him fiercely, mirroring his look of petty annoyance. He didn’t budge in his grip on her tender arms, and now he was glaring at her so fierce any other time she would have been wary, stepping with caution around his fragile temper. She took notice of the symbols that were starting to swirl around his head in a mist of shadowy green, an obvious notion towards his steadily rising annoyance that, if she didn’t tread softly, would turn into anger. 

But his anger was the least consuming of her thoughts, because she wasn’t afraid of Alastor, and he wasn’t afraid of her likewise. This fact was one of the reasons that, past conflicts aside, they truly did work well together. 

He was growing angry and she was too. Neither of them were very much concerned about the consequences of their mystical energies and magic clashing in such a possibly dangerous manner. 

He offered her a smile, but she could tell it was bitter and laced with rage that was slowly climbing up his skin. Against her arms, she could eel him beginning to shake in aggravation. 

“You’ll have to satisfy my curiosity then, my dear,” He murmured, eyeing her with chagrin. 

“I wouldn’t think someone of your prestige would stoop to  _ black magic  _ unless you had a good reason.”

“Ain’t your mother ever tell you to mind your own business,  _ Ally?” _

With a rough amount of strength that would have been shocking if they hadn’t already been acquainted, she ripped her arm from his grasp and quickly trotted away, not letting her anger get the best of her. She worked best when her environment was calm, poised, and relaxing, and she wouldn’t let a  _ snake  _ like Alastor slip under her feet and toss her up backwards. The aggravating nickname nearly sent him flying into an unchecked rage, but he was far from shocked, Daisy had always been… more difficult to keep in place. He had no influence over her fear, and a match of pure wit, brevity, and absolute wrath of magic would likely end in a fair draw, with minor setbacks of the city being absolutely levelled. 

She was quick enough to reach the main lobby without him on her tail, bouncing down the stairs. The lobby was practically empty but the morning sound of sleepy voices from the kitchen drew her towards that end of the room, and she was pleasantly greeted by familiar faces when she entered, finding comfort in their protection from being alone with Alastor more than she needed to. 

“Daisy!” 

She was greeted with enthusiasm by Charlie the very second she stepped in, nearly rushed off her feet at Charlie sudden advances, taking her hands in hers and beaming at her with such a childish light it made her heart melt in her chest.

“We were  _ just  _ talking about plans! Sit, you’ll want to hear this!” 

Daisy was quickly ushered into a drawn out chair, landing with a small umph from her throat. Across the table, Husk was slowly chewing his breakfast with an amused smirk, raising an eyebrow at her where she sat. Behind her, his eyes flickered up to catch something she couldn’t see and his face contorted into a bitter glare of resentment, and Daisy didn’t need the cue of radio static that suddenly  _ ruined  _ the peaceful morning bliss to alert her to his presence. 

Flinching at sudden contact on the table as Charlie slammed her hands down beside where she rested her arms, Charlie’s beaming face was so close she had to reel back and Daisy briefly wondered how her cheeks didn’t become sore from smiling as much as she did. She was entirely giddy, and down across the table Angel offered a very obnoxious eyeroll and dramatic body language. 

“I hope your morning is free, because you’ll wanna clear it anyway! Me and Vaggie were talking, and we thought today would be a good day to start,” Charlie stepped back and waved her hands in the air, her eyes starry and wondrous and sparkles of colour raining down from her fingers. 

“ _ Rehabilitation!” _

Daisy’s heart slowly began its descent into her gut. 

She hadn’t forgotten about rehabilitation, of course she hadn’t, in fact part of her reason for her involvement was so she could prove that the good person she was raised to be was still inside of her. Her conscious was torn between upholding her notorious and untouchable persona, and finally giving in to try to become something… truly good. She wondered if it was even possible, because no matter how generous and kind she really tried to be, following the upbringing of her family, there were always moments where the part of her she’d rather not show would come out. The part of her that was dark and evil and malicious, a cunning and powerful business woman who knew how to keep the people under her in check and who clawed and her way to the top with bloody fingernails and bruised, scraped skin. She truly believed in Charlie’s cause, she did, to an extent of course, but her thoughts were already racing with anxieties due to the mysterious letter she had found on her pillow that morning, and she was eager to get her day of collecting the ingredients she needed ready, which could possibly take a good part of her day. She didn’t really wish to spend another night without a decently reliable amount of protection magic, and… the letter had requested her appearance. 

“We thought that it would be a good, easy start to go to the… more  _ unfortunate  _ areas of Hell and help some of the homeless! Maybe hand out some blankets, some warm meals...” 

Oh dear, how was she going to get out of this one. 

Daisy quite nearly felt physical pains in her chest at the thought of letting down this darling girl who truly meant the best for everyone she met. Her eyebrows folded slightly, and she wasn’t quite sure what emotion to project as she began to sway in the direction of… stomping Charlie’s aspirations under her feet. 

“Weellll...” She started raising her chin as if preparing for a downfall of catastrophic disappointment,absently rubbing one of her shoulders, but a quick movement of red caught her eye. Glancing sideways, there was a bitter sensation in her stomach when she realized that Alastor’s eyes were trained on her faintly, the corners of his lips upturned with a teasing smugness. He was observing her, testing what she valued so he could determine where her priorities truly lay. He  _ knew  _ her, and he knew that nearly every fibre of her entire body was…  _ passionate  _ about her ideal that it wasn’t her fault that she was down here and it wasn’t really ever her own doing.  _ Of course  _ she didn’t deserve it, him and his sick, twisted ways and cruelty and manipulation were her undoing. But if that were true, if she really believed that...

Daisy’s eyebrows folded so faintly, in a conflicted, sad sort of way. Unsure. 

She could practically hear his smug voice in her head.  _ If you truly believed you were worthy of redemption, you’d jump at such an opportunity, wouldn’t you? _

Well, maybe that was her own voice. 

Her eyes flickered back to Charlie, a fanged grin stretching on her face as she clasped her hands together with animated endearment, giving a curt nod. Perhaps this would be a good start, not ready to give up the empire she had taken decades to build, a quiet starting line on her path to betterment. 

And she could stick it to Alastor, who would now have less to hold over her head.

  
“Sugar, I’d be  _ delighted.”  _


End file.
